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AN AMERICAN 
ABROAD AND AT HOME 


RECOLLECTIONS OF 
W. D. McCRACKAN/M. A. 


Author of 

“The Rise of the Swiss Republic/’ “The Spell 
of the Italian Lakes,” “The Spell of 
Tyrol,” and “The New 
Palestine.” 


/ 


With an Introduction by 
Henry Van Dyke J 


M. E. Starr, Publisher 

THE FRANKLIN PRESS, Inc. 
220 West 19TH Street, New York 
MDCCCCXXIV 





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Copyright, 1924. 
By M. E. Stark J 


All rights reserved 





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Printed by THE FRANKLIN FRESS, Irfc, 
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INTRODUCTION 

My friendship with William Denison McCrackan be¬ 
gan in the old and simple days of the Authors Club in 
New York. He already had a good book to his credit, 
and I was only commencing to write, so we did not come 
together on a “literary basis. ,, But there was something 
about him,—a certain frankness and enthusiasm of char¬ 
acter, an evident clearness and eagerness of mind,—that 
made me welcome and cherish him as a true friend. 

No differences in theological or political opinions 
could have any influence to dissolve a human tie like 
that. 

Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, I felt sure 
that he would do it honestly and well. 

Unless I am mistaken, his cooperation had much to 
do with making the Christian Science Monitor of Boston 
one of the best edited newspapers in the United States. 

His history of “The Rise of the Swiss Republic” 
(1892) is a work of admirable scholarship and fine enthu¬ 
siasm,—the first, and so far as I know, the best tribute 
paid by America to Switzerland for leadership in the 
way of government “by the people, of the people, and for 
the people.” 

McCrackan had an innate love of mountains. Wit¬ 
ness his book on the “Fair Land of Tyrol,” and his latest 
public service in Jerusalem, a mountain city. The fruit 
of this experience is gathered in the very interesting 
volume which he published in 1922, called “The New 
Palestine.” His latest home on earth was in Tamworth, 
New Hampshire, in the heart of the White Mountains. 


hi 


IV 


INTRODUCTION / 

He has done well in choosing for the title of his 
Memoirs, “An American Abroad and at Home,” for that 
is what he was always and everywhere. Look at his face, 
and you can see that. He had a great pride in his coun¬ 
try,—so great and so strong that he was not afraid to 
criticize her faults and to urge her forward to better 
things. But he was never a bigot in liberalism,—always 
a friendly adventurer in new ways, hoping to find the 
best. In this book he has left an interesting record of his 
quests and journeys of body and soul. Through it all 
the reader can feel the sanity and sweetness of the man 
who thus ventured, hoped, and labored for the welfare 
of others, and who has now come to the goal of good 
endeavor and the haven of happy rest. 

Henry Van Dyke. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I 

FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 1 

CHAPTER II 

mother’s record of my babyhood ..... 21 

CHAPTER III 

BOYHOOD DAYS IN SWITZERLAND.33 

CHAPTER IV 

SCHOOL DAYS IN EUROPE . 50 

CHAPTER V 

GOING HOME TO AMERICA. 73 

CHAPTER VI 

COLLEGE DAYS .. 96 

CHAPTER VII 

A VISIT TO EUROPE . 197 

CHAPTER VIII 

IN THE LEVANT.1^2 

V 










VI 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER IX 

AT CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE . 134 

CHAPTER X 

WRITING MY HISTORY OF SWITZERLAND .... 139 

CHAPTER XI 

LIVING IN BOSTON. 150 

CHAPTER XII 

LIVING IN NEW YORK. 163 

CHAPTER XIII 

POEMS. 174 

CHAPTER XIV 

ANCESTRAL SKETCH. 198 

IN MEMORIAM. 217 

ASCENSION. 219 









CHAPTER I 


First Impressions 

My earliest recollections are connected with Switzer¬ 
land. I recall walking along the narrow little quay with 
my nurse and sisters while a fierce wind was driving the 
spray over the parapet. We ran along dodging the clouds 
of spray and dashing gleefully between them. As we 
peered over the parapet we could see the intense blue of 
the water and the white-caps surging towards us. The 
view over this lake across to the mountains of Savoy, 
with some stretches of shore on either side, make up my 
earliest earthly sights. Deep seated love for the moun¬ 
tains seems to have been given me at this time, which later 
drew me back again and again to Switzerland, and years 
after made me its historian. 

The family had left the United States in the year 
1857 intending to make the usual summer’s tour of Eur¬ 
ope, but had mostly remained abroad since then, with 
only a few visits to America, traveling leisurely and sight¬ 
seeing in England, Belgium, Saxony, the Rhine Provinces, 
Prussia, Bohemia, Austria, Bavaria, Switzerland, France 
and Italy. My sister Mamie and I were born in Munich, 
Bavaria, but my earliest recollections cluster around 
Vevey, on Lake Leman, commonly called, The Lake of 
Geneva, in Switzerland. My father and mother, my 
brother John and two sisters, Annie and Mamie, also my 
father’s mother and his two sisters, were all living in 
Switzerland at that time. 

Among the incidents which I can remember associated 
with Vevey, one took place in the Maison Kohly, a house 

1 


2 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

with adjacent garden, which we had hired at the base of 
the hill of St. Martin. My sister Mamie and I had been 
left alone in the house when a violent thunder storm broke 
over the place. Finding that we were alone, we became 
frightened and finally knelt down on the brick kitchen 
floor and prayed in our childlike way to God to protect 
us. This calmed us and when the family returned they 
found us at play. 

There comes to me across the years a pleasant smell 
from dear old Vevey, a smell wafted from the windows 
of a certain building somewhere on the way from Maison 
Kohly to the railroad station. This smell was associated 
in my mind with the regular whirl of machinery in action 
which spelled quite distinctly the sweet word, chocolate. 
Even in those days Vevey was beginning to establish a 
reputation for Swiss milk chocolate; then when Nestled 
food for babies was added to the list of its attractions, it 
acquired a name which endeared it to the whole world. 
How strange, I used to think to myself, all this fuss about 
the quiet little brown cakes in their glistening tinfoil 
wrappings! Why was it necessary to have so big a 
building with such a big noise just to make chocolate! 
Childhood grows through many surprises, as it learns of 
the ordinary things of life. 

A lively mystery also lurked in my thought about a 
certain cubby-house John had worked out for himself 
under a part of the foot-bridge which spanned the rail¬ 
road from the garden of Maison Kohly to the hillside of 
St. Martin. The garden lay along side of what has since 
developed into the great international railroad route of 
the Simplon, connecting France with Italy through Swit¬ 
zerland. There was a snug corner under the footbridge 
where garden tools were kept; it was possible by dint 
of much squeezing and wriggling for little people like 
ourselves to insert themselves into this cavernous enclo- 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS 


3 

sure and play house there in the dim damp interior while 
the trains passed close to us unseen, puffing and panting 
like great monsters. It was also considered a bold ad¬ 
venture by us, to stand on the footbridge while a train 
passed beneath and to allow ourselves to be enveloped 
in clouds of smoke and steam which certainly did not 
smell good and did not add to our beauty. 

The hill of St. Martin was a delightful playground. 
The old historic church did not interest us, even though 
it had harbored the so-called regicides of Charles I of 
England, but its surroundings were like a whole world 
playground for us. There was the terrace in front, with 
a stone table indicating the names of all the mountain 
peaks on the Savoy side acros the lake; great trees fur¬ 
nished us with horse chestnut blossoms in the spring, 
and the chestnuts themselves in the late summer to string 
together; there were green benches to climb over and 
jump from; but most highly prized of all were certain 
sloping stone banisters skirting the flight of steps lead¬ 
ing from the terrace to the road. These banisters had 
been worn to a delicious smoothness by generations of 
small boys and girls until they glistened in the sun. No 
visit to the hill of St. Martin was complete without a 
slide upon them; whole mornings and afternoons seemed 
hardly long enough to satisfy our sliding propensities, and 
I really believe we moved away from Vevey before I 
had fully gratified my appetite for these banisters, so 
that one of the principal reasons for the hope that I might 
return some day was to have another slide on the banis¬ 
ters of St. Martin. 

My brother John, the eldest of us four children, at¬ 
tended what was known as the College in Vevey, cor¬ 
responding to our High School in the United States. He 
was a very independent and original boy and, as the oldest, 
had a life somewhat apart from the rest of us who were 


4 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

under a nurse and governess. We used to like to tease 
him when he was in his room studying his lessons. I 
remember throwing my little punchinello doll, made of 
bright yellow and red worsteds, against the transom of his 
door and then running away and hiding, so that he would 
not catch me. John interested us three in collecting 
stamps, and would bring home some wonderful speci¬ 
mens from the College. He liked to surprise us with 
them, sometimes leaving them in places where we would 
be sure to find them, and then pretended he knew noth¬ 
ing about them. 

My first lesson in meum and tuum came when we 
children were invited to the birthday party of a little 
Russian friend. Our parents had become acquainted with 
a family of Menchnikoffs, while we used to play with 
the children. I cannot recall the number of these chil¬ 
dren, nor their baptismal names, but the birthday party 
comes to my mind to which they invited us in a house 
somewhere in the heights back of Vevey. The little boy 
friend had received as a present a toy horse-car made of 
painted tin. Horse-cars were a novelty in those days. He 
and I played together with this toy, running the horse-car 
between two stations which we called America and Rus¬ 
sia. At length the nurse came to take us home, and we 
had gone but a few steps from the house when it was 
discovered that I was holding the toy horse-car carefully 
tucked away under my arm. My nurse remonstrated 
with me, but I could not understand what she meant, and 
while I wondered, we retracted our steps to the house. I 
reluctantly gave up the toy, greatly puzzled to know what 
I had done that was wrong. 

My brother John early took me in hand to harden 
me. He taught me a number of simple acrobatic feats, 
would lift me to his shoulders and make me balance 
myself; at other times he would also turn me over be- 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS 5 

tween his legs; he made some rude Indian clubs for him¬ 
self, which he taught me to swing. 

From the Maison Kohly we moved to the Maison 
Gunther, a fine old place surrounded by a garden and 
approached by a driveway shaded by rich evergreens, 
bearing bright red berries. The garden had a wall on 
the street side surmounted by rose bushes. The house 
itself was four stories high; we lived on the second floor, 
or bel etage, which had a loggia balcony that gave beauty 
and dignity to the structure. Here my recollections be¬ 
gin to assume a more definite form. 

We were both born in the same house in Munich, a 
pretty villa dignified by the name of Schloss, or castle, 
belonging to the family of Resipal, and situated on the 
edge of Munich's most beautiful park, the English Gar¬ 
den. Mamie’s birthday being on the 28th of February, 
it was quite common for people to say to her, “How for¬ 
tunate that your birthday didn’t come on February 29th, 
for in that case you would have your birthday only once 
in four years.” She therefore acquired the habit of fore¬ 
stalling this remark when she was asked about her birth¬ 
day by hastily assuring questioners that she was glad it 
was not on the 29th. My own birthday being on the 
12th of February did not at first attract my particular 
attention, but in later years when I learned that Abraham 
Lincoln, the great emancipator, had been born on the 
same date, I was proud to recognize this fact. 

From Vevey days also comes the memory of two 
greatly loved toys, a wooden horse and a cow on wheels, 
large enough and strong enough so that with a little 
management a small child could even sit on them. There 
was a slight incline at the gate of the drive into Maison 
Gunther, so that with a little judicious pushing it was 
possible even to take a short coast on these much endur¬ 
ing animal friends. Our strong affection for these two 


6 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

toys kept them with us after we had really outgrown 
the desire to play with them; then they were handed 
over to two little girls, Nellie and Florrie Simpkin, of 
whom more shall be said later in these Recollections. 

In the Vevey of those days there was a wonderful 
toy store called Mack’s, appropriately named as far as 
the McCrackan children were concerned. The store was 
still in flourishing condition many years after when I re¬ 
visited Vevey, and I hope is in existence to-day. From 
this store issued a glad procession of dolls, trains of 
cars, blocks and other toys for us, but especially, as far 
as I was concerned, many rubber balls, some painted in 
brilliant reds and greens. The garden of the Maison 
Gunther had a provoking iron fence with spikes on which 
many of these balls were unfortunately impaled as we 
played. There would be an extra high throw, then down 
would come the ball upon the cruel spike and expire be¬ 
fore our very eyes with a deep drawn breath of ex¬ 
haustion. This would necessitate another visit to Mack’s. 

It was probably in Vevey that I first began to take no¬ 
tice of my father carving at table. In the good old- 
fashioned American way he would not permit the carv¬ 
ing to be done in the kitchen; foreigners could not be 
expected to know how it should be done, and there was 
always a right way to cut every joint of fowl. Through 
this observation in early years I acquired a fondness for 
carving at table which I have had ample opportunity to 
cultivate since, notably when I was at the head of a table 
of boys at St. Paul’s School, Concord, New Hampshire, 
during my sixth form year there and my one year as 
a master. 

John had a riding horse named Charlie, which was 
kept in a stable near the corner opposite the entrance to 
Maison Gunther. To see him astride this stocky little 
cobb, in high riding boots, pea jacket and cap, and hold¬ 
ing a riding crop was a proud sight for us little ones. 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS 


7 

The horse was very obstinate, and I remember John 
turning and turning him in front of the house until he 
forced him to obey. In order to harden me John used 
to mount me on the horse and make me stand up on the 
saddle, while he himself led the horse down the road; or 
he made me lie flat on my back with my head to the 
horse's tail. 

Two special occasions stand out in my recollection 
concerning these hardening experiences with my brother 
John. One winter the Vevey police made special at¬ 
tempts to prevent boys coasting in the steep roads which 
mounted into the hills back of Vevey, and the boys of 
course tried to outwit them. I remember one wonderful 
day when John took me off with a band of boys into the 
hills and we coasted over one road after another defying 
the police. Every now and then the alarm would be given 
that we were being pursued; then the whole band would 
dash off and not come to a halt until we had left the sup¬ 
posed enemy far behind. At times I would have the agon¬ 
izing experience of being separated from John. This 
coasting experience long remained in my mind as one of 
the wildest adventures. We eventually reached Vevey 
again by a long detour through the vineclad hills, drag¬ 
ging our sleds behind us, play-weary, but boastfully 
happy. 

The other occasion came when John had reached the 
conclusion that it was time for me to learn to swim. I 
remember that the day was somewhat stormy and lower¬ 
ing on the lake, and there were regular little rollers com¬ 
ing to the gravelly beach at the boys' swimming bath. 
John waded in and encouraged me to follow. Presently 
I was up to my neck in the water and the rollers were 
lifting me off my feet. I called loudly to John, but he de¬ 
layed, hoping I would find some way of learning to swim 
in my necessity. It was sometime before I was extricated, 
somewhat shaken by the unusual sensation of finding no 


8 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

bottom for my feet, and I am ashamed to say that I com¬ 
plained of John to my mother when I got home. John’s 
avoidance of me for a few days after this was a terrible 
punishment; I never again peached on him, but took my 
hardening process like a man, no matter what it entailed. 

This experience with the water may have given me an 
idea for a heroic act on my part. To carry this out I 
took my nurse into my confidence. Although I had not 
learned to swim, I one day decided to dive as I saw the 
older boys doing. So on that day I told my nurse that I 
would go to the boys’ swimming bath and dive. She 
smiled at me, but I strapped up my little swimming tights 
in a towel and started off determined to carry out my 
promise, like a man. At the swimming bath I hesitated 
long and fearfully, but finally picking out a shallow place 
I climbed down to the lowest rung in the ladder which 
led down to the water and after a struggle allowed myself 
to fall in. I was a proud boy when I told my nurse on 
my return that I had kept my word. After this I learned 
to make my fall into the water more of a dive and to 
swim a few strokes under water, but I did not really learn 
to swim on the surface until several years after. Almost 
all my accomplishments came to me suddenly, like swim¬ 
ming, skating, reading, etc. 

We lived in Vevey during the Franco-Prussian War. 
I was too young to realize what was going on, although I 
gained a vague sense that something different than usual 
was agitating the world, but that was all. Finally I 
heard that John was not going to school for a while be¬ 
cause the school buildings and churches were going to be 
used to house French prisoners. One day John took me 
out of town on the highway from Lausanne and there 
we saw a part of the remnant of Bourbaki’s army, which 
the German General Werder had kept hemmed in for a 
long time against the Swiss frontier. This French army 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS 


9 

had finally been forced to surrender to the friendly Swiss 
and to pile up their arms on the frontier. A detachment 
and drum corps of the Swiss army marched ahead of the 
pitiful host of unarmed French prisoners. These poor 
fellows were desperately miserable in appearance, shabby, 
helpless and hopeless, the crude reds and blues of their 
uniforms adding to their sordid appearance. Their suf¬ 
ferings and wants had been great during their forced in¬ 
action when hemmed in by the Germans and they were 
then barely recovering from the worst of their plight 
under the kindly care of the Swiss. 

This sad procession of defeat made a deep impression 
on my youthful mind. John and I marched with the 
vanquished host into Vevey and thereafter it was a daily 
sight to see the prisoners take their regular outings 
through the streets cheered by the bystanders and pre¬ 
sented with cigars and little gifts. Every day the prison¬ 
ers recovered visibly from their misery and expressed 
their gratitude as best they could for the great kindness 
shown to them. Bourbaki’s army had been accompanied 
by a great number of horses, among them many fine 
Arabians from northern Africa. These starved animals 
were sold in Switzerland at this time for next to nothing. 
I was told afterward that some of them went as low as 
two francs a piece. I remember riding one of these horses 
years after at Interlaken, a good serviceable white animal, 
renamed Franz by its new owner. 

From this time I recall also charming walks back of 
Vevey and Clarens where with our nurses we picked the 
scented narcissus in the spring, the violets and primroses. 
In this district lies the castle of Blonay with a little village 
beside it. The recollection of the great walnut trees of 
this hillside village, as well as of certain breakfast rolls 
fresh and warm from the village bakery, comes to me as 
I write of Blonay. We occupied a stone house fronting 


10 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

on a vegetable garden ornamented with a few old-fash¬ 
ioned flowers. The surrounding meadows were very 
green and full of wild flowers. 

In Blonay I passed a certain mile-stone in my educa¬ 
tion which means much to every child. 

One morning I opened our English Bible and found 
that I could read. I was so delighted and surprised at 
this, that I rushed into my mother’s room, Bible in hand, 
and read her from the place where I had opened. I do 
not recall the particular passage, but from that day I had 
no further difficulty in reading English and French also. 
As I write this I feel that there was significance in the 
fact that I could not learn to read until I turned to the 
Bible. Our governess had labored faithfully to teach 
me to spell and read in French, but without success. Liv¬ 
ing in a French speaking Canton of Switzerland we child¬ 
ren spoke French without an effort. In fact we seemed 
to turn to it so naturally that my father, a sturdy Ameri¬ 
can, was obliged to make a rule that only English could 
be spoken at table. Our elders were not as quick in pick¬ 
ing up languages as we were, and it was always a wonder 
to them that we promptly answered questions in English 
or French, and later in German, according to the language 
in which we were addressed. 

There was one particular dish which was very dis¬ 
tasteful to us children, and that was dandelion greens, 
served either cooked or uncooked. We used to call it 
among ourselves, mauvais chose (bad thing). When it 
came on the table we would nudge each other and put out 
signals of distress to stiffen our resolution not to eat of it 
unless the absolute command went forth. As dandelion 
greens were considered wholesome, mauvais chose often 
appeared upon the table in the spring but was never a 
welcome guest for us. 

In Vevey we attended the services of the church of 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS 


11 


England, held at the time in the Evangelical church on 
the square facing the Hotel Monnet. We were devout 
Episcopalians, both on my father’s and mother’s side. 
My mother’s mother was a Jarvis, to which family the 
Episcopal Bishop of Connecticut, Abraham Jarvis, be¬ 
longed. My father’s father and his father before him had 
been treasurers of Trinity Episcopal church on the green 
in New Haven for 56 years in succession. As Bishop 
Jarvis is buried under the altar of Trinity Church, New 
Haven, the religious experience of my father’s and 
mother’s families may be said to be united in that church. 
Among the family papers I find some old receipts dating 
from Vevey days showing that my father also acted as 
treasurer for the English church in Vevey. Wherever 
we went on the Continent of Europe we sustained liber¬ 
ally and attended regularly the services of the American 
or English churches. 

My grandmother McCrackan and her two surviving 
daughters, aunts Mary and Charlotte, or Lottie, as we 
always called her, lived in a large, cheery pension at 
Clarens during most of our stay at Vevey. My grand¬ 
mother had seven children, of whom three were living at 
this time, my father and these two aunts. She invariably 
wore a turban of white tulle fastened with a jewel, and 
artistically draped with diaphanous, delicate black lace,— 
this having been the fashion when she left the United 
States for what was expected to be a summer trip only. 
My two aunts wore their hair in ringlets and never 
changed this fashion. These three members of our fam¬ 
ily never returned to the United States, but their earthly 
remains are all buried in the cemetery at Bern, the capital 
of Switzerland. Another aunt, Sarah, whom I never 
knew, is buried in Munich, Germany, where she died in 
1866. The McCrackans were always great travelers. My 
grandfather’s brother, John McCrackan, is buried in Pere 


12 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

La Chaise cemetery, Paris, France, and his wife, Nancy, 
in the Protestant cemetery of Florence, Italy. 

Aunt Lottie was very remarkable in her spiritual ex¬ 
periences. I was too young in the early days of Vevey 
and later of Stuttgart to understand at its full worth her 
spiritual outlook, but I now feel that it was profound and 
genuine. She was very solicitous of our spiritual welfare, 
but her care for us repelled us somewhat, so that we sub¬ 
mitted to her efforts without particularly liking them. 
While residing later at Interlaken she healed herself 
through prayer of lameness and felt her experience of 
such importance that she called my brother John to her 
from his studies at Trinity College in Hartford, Connec¬ 
ticut, where he was preparing himself for the ministry. 
My two aunts had prayers every morning and then studied 
the Bible. They had their own income and set a generous 
share aside for purposes of charity; dispensing this with 
great regularity to dependents in the United States and in 
the localities in which they happened to reside in Europe. 

At the age of about fourteen or fifteen, my brother 
John experienced a sudden change of heart, as the saying 
is. He was always fearless, unconscious of self, actively 
intelligent with a turn for mechanics and a great love for 
music. Now he turned his whole nature with these rich 
qualities and began to fit himself to be a real Christian. 
Just how this sudden transformation was caused, I can¬ 
not now say, but I have heard it ascribed to the influence 
of two English ladies who came to live at the Maison 
Gunther. It may well have been the result of my aunt’s 
religious influence. Throughout his life my brother John 
presented Christianity in a wholesome, free, and joyous 
way which made him beloved wherever he went. He 
was a living embodiment of what he preached, devoid of 
bigotry, self-righteousness or pose, he invariably lifted 
and comforted those who came in contact with his life. 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS 


13 


He found it difficult in after years, when he became a 
clergyman of the Episcopal church, to conform to the 
conventional usages of that church and was always ready 
to introduce helpful innovations, though he cheerfully 
submitted to what that church considered the essentials 
of belief. 

During our stay at Vevey an American family con¬ 
sisting of Mr. and Mrs. Leonard Corning with their two 
sons, Leonard and Fred, and their small daughter, Nellie, 
came to Vevey and became our nearest friends. Mrs. 
Corning was an invalid whom I remember chiefly as 
lying on a couch and trying to smile feebly through her 
illness. Mr. Corning was a big hearted, lovable man with 
a shiny bald head, a comfortable round body, and a ready 
joke ever on the lips. Soon we all called him “Pa Corn- 
ing.” At home he had been an advanced preacher of 
the Universalist or Unitarian persuasion who had ac¬ 
cepted the then new theory of evolution which had greatly 
agitated the religious world. He still preached occasion¬ 
ally, at least I remember his preaching a sermon some 
years after at Stuttgart out of which I gathered the 
thought, at that time entirely new to me, that mere con¬ 
science could not be an infallible guide, because it was 
conscience which made the heathen bow to their idols. 
Mr. Corning was constant in his attendance upon his in¬ 
valid wife. He would even take a basket on market days 
and bring home fruits and vegetables from the big public 
market place. This was considered somewhat infra dig 
on his part as a man of means, and I do not think my 
father, who was a man of unusual formality in dress and 
bearing, quite liked it. 

Len and Fred joined John in boyish exploits. I was 
too young to be one with them, so as a rule I heard of 
their doings only from an awed distance; two occasions, 
however, remain in my mind when I was allowed to par- 


14 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

ticipate. One day they took it into their heads to go 
across town through houses, over walls, into gardens, 
cellars, etc., and so to emerge from one street to another. 
I was taken along on this expedition, the wonder of it 
long surviving in my mind as the acme of all that was 
adventurous and full of narrow escapes. On the fourth 
of July the three boys fired small cannons and set off 
fire works in the back yard of the Maison Gunther, while 
I looked on thrilled with their audacity. The commotion 
produced by these three active American boys in little 
old Vevey may be imagined. Perhaps John's sudden turn 
to religious interests may have somewhat dampened the 
vigor of these boyish pranks, but the boys remained 
friends for many years after in Germany and in the 
United States, though their interests, naturally enough, 
took them apart in later life. Len became a physician in 
New York and Fred an expert mining engineer. 

Nellie Corning was a small quiet child, a year or two 
younger than I. She had fluffy hair standing out from 
her head. We adopted her at once as a playmate. She 
said little but followed along. There were some low green 
benches under the shade trees in the street which skirted 
one side of the garden of Maison Gunther, and Annie, 
Mamie and I had learned to jump over these benches as 
we played around the house. Of course Nellie had to 
follow suit. She bravely tried but tripped and fell on 
her head. Instead of crying, she uttered not a word and 
quietly walked away to our intense surprise and admira¬ 
tion. She always maintained this same quality of quiet 
endurance and in later years became my sister Mamie’s 
closest friend. 

My brother John had as a plaything one of those 
comical precursors of the bicycle called a velocipede, a 
two-wheeled affair, made of wood, which was propelled 
by pushing on the ground with the feet. John had been 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS 


15 

known to coast down the steep hill of St. Martin about 
as far as the entrance of the Maison Gunther. As the 
railroad crossed the road at the foot of the hill, this feat 
was considered hazardous, and I dimly remember that my 
father had to forbid John to do this. In course of time 
I fell heir to this velocipede; it became my inseparable 
and dearly loved companion. Imitating the feats which 
John had taught me on horseback, I learned to rise to a 
standing position on this velocipede while it was under 
way, but one day I suddenly fell off and struck my head 
violently. My recollection of this incident was one of 
great surprise, nothing more, although I led my velocipede 
to its abiding place in the woodshed and did not take it 
out again for several days. During the height of my am¬ 
bition for collecting stamps I had under consideration 
the offer of a Swiss boy to exchange this velocipede for 
a Servian stamp which had just appeared and I much 
desired. Before doing so, however, I took the precaution 
of consulting my father who assured me that the bargain 
offered was most ridiculous, and so I rejected it. 

My father was a tall man always immaculately 
dressed. He was stem and would not let us stand up on 
chairs or climb upon the big porcelain stoves which were 
in universal use in Swiss houses at that time. He insisted 
on our shoes being blacked and our hair brushed and 
also looked after our finger nails and sent us regularly 
to the American dentist. He always wore a stand-up 
collar and a black silk tie which had to be especially made 
for him. I cannot remember him in any kind of negligee. 
He wore the fashions which were in vogue in the United 
States. He was exacting in his demands of subordinates; 
in the payment of bills he demanded discount for cash, 
and was served by all with care not unmixed with fear. 
I can remember that he sang with a rich baritone voice 
at some of our receptions; he also had a great love for 


16 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

Shakespeare and could recite many a passage from his 
plays. He had short curly Scotch hair, and did not use a 
brush, but merely passed a comb through it. He wore the 
customary moustache and Burnside whiskers of that 
period, and was much admired for his good looks. 

My father's notable qualities were not of a kind to be 
readily understood by a child. In my riper years, I was 
able to gain a clearer estimate of his good care and train¬ 
ing of us children. As I write I turn with admiration to 
his career as a rising young lawyer in his native city of 
New Haven, Connecticut, chosen by that city in 1847 to 
visit Henry Clay, later sailing around Cape Horn as one 
of the Forty Niners, helping to bring civilization to Cali¬ 
fornia, returning with a respectable fortune, presented to 
the Supreme Court in Washington, and thereafter provid¬ 
ing for a large family of dependents. He was an enthu¬ 
siastic upholder of the possibilities of Northern and 
Southern California while that state was still largely a 
desert, owning land in what is now the city of Los An¬ 
geles and being interested in various projects for the open¬ 
ing up of the American Far West. My father was one 
of that generation of alert Americans who had the vision 
of the greater United States and linked with it a compre¬ 
hensive understanding of European conditions. During 
his travels abroad he wrote occasionally for the American 
papers on foreign politics. His letters to his mother and 
sisters written on the way to California, and from Cali¬ 
fornia itself, are worthy of a place in the history of the 
Pacific Coast. 

As I first remember my mother, she had a sweet 
Madonna cast of features, beautiful with great placidity; 
her hair was of a rich brown with a chestnut tinge. I 
cannot recall her ever being angry or harsh with me. She 
was sympathetic with us children and wisely encouraged 
our expressions of individuality. Her religious life was 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS 


17 


not narrowed by any reverence for orthodoxy. My 
mother by nature had the rare vision which transcends 
ecclesiasticism and is prophetic. We turned to her natur¬ 
ally rather than to our father who seemed to our childish 
hearts distant and to exist principally for the purpose of 
discipline. 

My mother was deeply musical. She had a special 
talent for improvisation and one of the most cherished 
memories of my childhood is having her play me to sleep 
at night. She could suggest the styles of the different 
great composers in her improvisation and would say, 
“Now this is Mozart or Handel or Beethoven.” On dif¬ 
ferent occasions, as we grew up, she organized us chil¬ 
dren and our young friends into little groups to give 
plays or recitations. In her youth she had learned to play 
the harp when it was fashionable for young ladies in 
New York before the Civil War. This accomplishment 
she took up again when we moved to Stuttgart, Wurttem- 
berg, and never gave it up, but played beautifully in 
New York when we returned to the United States to 
live. The harpist of the Metropolitan Opera House 
orchestra came for a time regularly to the house in New 
York to refresh her technique and play duettes with her. 

My brother John and my two sisters all showed 
marked musical talent; John later took up the violin in 
Stuttgart and studied harmony and counterpoint. He 
played with such fervor and originality that at times it 
seemed to move him almost too much so that he would 
try to put away the instrument for short intervals, but 
always returned to it. He had a rich bass voice which 
gave a superb foundation to the family singing of hymns 
and part songs. He composed several hymns himself and 
when at Trinity College in Hartford, Connecticut, ar¬ 
ranged some of the songs in the Trinity College song 
book. His music seemed very close to his innate being, 


18 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

expressing his powerful sense of freedom. Outdoors 
he loved to burst into wild calls such as are heard in the 
Alps. 

My sister Annie played the piano and had a sweet 
true voice, like her character. She sang with precision 
and art, expressing in her music the neatness which she 
showed in keeping all her belongings in order and later 
in her house, when she acquired one of her own in Stam¬ 
ford, Connecticut. Following my mother’s example, 
Annie took up the harp, learning to play most acceptibly, 
especially the dear old Scotch songs, as well as some of 
the beautiful pieces with arpeggio runs so well suited to 
that instrument. 

My sister Mamie showed very pronounced musical 
talent. Like Annie she received instruction from the best 
musical teachers at the Conservatory in Stuttgart and 
gained a brilliant execution on the piano. This she kept 
up until after our return to the United States, when she 
dropped solo playing on the piano and thereafter played 
that instrument principally to accompany the voice. As 
an accompanist she has always shown the particular pli¬ 
ableness which is so helpful to a singer. She also took 
up singing and studied harmony. Out of this study came 
the composing of songs, some of which have had consider¬ 
able vogue. 

I myself never developed much application in a mu¬ 
sical way. I was put to the piano, but practicing was 
very irksome to me, and I had an exasperating way of 
counting, which drove my music teachers to complain. 
In counting the beats out loud I would sing the air of the 
piece I was trying to play and nothing I could do, or any¬ 
body else could do, broke me of this annoying habit. In 
later years I studied voice culture for awhile with great 
longings to be a fine tenor, but never thoroughly brought 
my voice out or properly placed it, though I have always 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS 


19 

enjoyed being able to carry the tenor in hymns and college 
quartettes. 

But to return to Vevey days, we children often vis¬ 
ited my grandmother McCrackan and my two aunts at 
Clarens. We generally walked by the main road along 
the Lake Leman we so dearly loved. Its deep blue with 
the dark purple of the mountains of Savoy on the op¬ 
posite shore, the yellow gray castle of Chillon at the 
waters edge beyond Montreaux, and the snowclad top 
of the Dent du Midi up the Rhone Valley beyond the end 
of the lake, all formed an indelible picture. This view 
is one of the beauty spots of the world; it was one of my 
first impressions. John did not as a rule accompany us on 
our walks with our nurse, for he belonged to another 
world, that of big boys. 

We three children generally arrived at our aunts with 
dusty shoes. Aunt Mary would promptly produce a dus¬ 
ter for them, and then as promptly take us to a linen bag 
which she kept hanging at the side of her closet. In this 
were little cakes and sweet crackers always on hand for 
our visits. Sweet chocolate also comes to my mind as 
particularly associated with aunt Mary. She taught us 
children many old fashioned songs and ditties current in 
the United States before the Civil War, such as, “Old 
Dog Tray is ever faithful,” “A sailor, a sailor, a sailor I 
would be,” “She’s a young thing and cannot leave her 
mother.” She would accompany these songs on the piano 
and play games with us while her ringlets shook with 
her laughter. Aunt Lottie looked after us in our less 
boisterous moments, and I stood somewhat in awe of 
her. But the awe was as nothing compared to that 
which I felt for grandmother Mary Godfrey Jenkins 
McCrackan. She appeared to me as a sort of queen en¬ 
throned, and made to be waited upon; this impression 
being much enhanced by the tulle and lace turban she 


20 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

wore. I do not recall anything specifically which she said 
to me. She always seemed to be sitting and to be waited 
upon by my two aunts or by anybody who came near 
her. She was gentle and kindly of appearance and the 
attention she attracted seemed to proceed from a sort 
of spiritual ascendency which I did not understand, but 
admitted. Aunt Lottie was especially constant in her at¬ 
tentions upon grandmother. We had a hymn, No. 156, 
in the Episcopal Hymnal, which we called grandmother’s 
hymn because it was her favorite and it was sung un¬ 
failingly as the last hymn every Sunday night. It was 
entitled, “Contentment,” written by Steele, 

Father, whate’er of earthly bliss 
Thy sovereign will denies, 

Accepted at Thy throne, let this, 

My humble prayer arise— 

Give me a calm and thankful heart, 

From every murmur free; 

The blessings of Thy grace impart, 

And make me live to Thee. 

Let the sweet hope that Thou art mine 
My life and death attend, 

Thy presence through my journey shine, 

And crown my journey’s end. 


CHAPTER II 


Mother's Record of My Babyhood 

I shall introduce into these Recollections extracts 
from my mother's journals to supply touches from the 
time when I was too young to remember incidents my¬ 
self, and to give the particular kind of information which 
only a mother can give. 

I offer these extracts from my mother's journals with¬ 
out apology, but with an explanation. Many a mother 
has thought about her children as my mother did, but 
few have recorded their thoughts. The sweet perceptions, 
the dainty appreciations, the amusing incidents which arise 
in the lives of mothers and children are not generally 
recorded for lack of time, and may not generally be con¬ 
sidered of sufficient importance for preservation. There¬ 
fore I offer these revealings to all mothers, and ask that 
this chapter be not attributed to conceit on my part, but 
be acceptable as my tribute to motherhood. 

Under date of October 18th, 1860, my mother refers 
to the family traveling from Dresden to Munich. My 
father engaged for residence in Munich the better part of 
a villa, called Schloss, (Castle) Rosipal, situated on an 
extension of the Ludwig Strasse, just outside the Sieges 
Thor (Gate of Victory), a triumphal gate, modeled after 
the arch of Constantine in Rome. My mother writes in 
her journal: “The Schloss stands in the centre of a ten 
acre plot of ground, beautifully laid out with pretty 
walks and flower patches. There are no less than four 
summer houses on the grounds. The Rosipals retain the 
lower floor, parterre, for their summer residence, they 
living in the city in the winter. Herr Rosipal is the 
prince-merchant of Munich. His family are highly cul¬ 
tivated and are highly connected. They were always 
21 


22 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

very kind to us. They are very elegant, refined and sub¬ 
stantial.” 

The picture of the villa where I was born was in¬ 
serted into the journal by my mother, and she continued 
to write beneath it: “Mamie and Willie were born in the 
centre room with the balcony.” “William Denison was 
born on Feb. 12th, 1864, a bright little sprite, dark hair, 
and dark eyes, a new pet and a dear little boy. He pro¬ 
gresses in all the accomplishments accessory to infantine 
perfection. Healthy, happy and good, my little flock of 
four make themselves very happy in the garden, romping 
about. Johnnie studies as usual in the mornings with 
me, in English, French and German. Annie sews and 
learns to count in the garden, while round, fat, little 
Mamie amuses herself with, or without her nurse, Pauline. 
Willie has his own nurse, “Bappi,” and he passes his 
time in alternate delights of eating, drinking, sleeping 
and playing. He is very lively, and a very happy child.” 

In the winter of 1862 father spent several months in 
America to do his bit in the Civil War, and again, most 
of the winter of 1864 in New York, returning to Tagern- 
see in the summer of 1865 at the close of the war. In the 
winter and spring from 1862 to 1863 there was a regular 
migration of the family to Italy, by way of Venice, Padua, 
Florence to Rome. The family remaining in Rome until 
June 1863, returning by way of Leghorn, Pisa, Milan and 
the Italian Lakes. At this time also there was a trip to 
Naples, Pompeii, Vesuvius, Sorrento and the Blue Grotto 
of Capri. It was in April of that year that my mother 
beheld the newly excavated statue of Augustus Caesar in 
the gardens of Villa Livia in Rome, and carried away a 
lasting impression of this experience. In the summer the 
family was in Switzerland. The Journal states: “In my 
letters to America, to papa, I notice a few mentions of 
Willie's babyhood. At eight months—the little man is 


mother’s record of my babyhood 23 

played to sleep by mama’s music—a habit which continues 
to disarm any little pranks that may slyly wake him up, 
when he should ‘go-by-by’.” 

“It is noticed also that he pats mam-mams lustily 
away on the carpet and rolls himself about, indefinitely, 
with healthy kicks and foot pounders, and the old green 
rug is retained for his especial benefit and salams, as with 
joyous glance and mischievious winks, he devotes his 
energies to tattling baby pow-wows and long stories, de¬ 
duced from that indefatigable cranium of tiny jollity. 
The third tooth showed itself at that time, with an obvious 
shadow of the fourth.” At another date, “Willie is seen 
and heard daddle-daddelling on his green rug, so cun¬ 
ning, so contented, bobbing up and down, reaching out for 
this and that, screaming with delight his ‘nein, nein,’ to 
surrounding admirers, and insisting on playing ‘so big-so 
big’—evidently understanding the importance of this com¬ 
municative pantomine.” 

“Later he is mentioned as having finally fallen asleep, 
—‘Little fox’ after a full day’s tantrummy wakefullness.” 

“Also he is spoken of as being intensely fascinating, 
shouting and giggling all the time. In Nov., 1864, I write: 
Willie laughs almost all day long, only sleeping about 
half an hour, until night comes. Starts up bright and 
early in the morning, by six, and then we don’t know 
what to do with him, until the nurses are ready to take 
his Lordship.” 

“His capers and pranks, his snuggling (feet up, kick¬ 
ing, into my pillow) his impulsive caresses, accompanied 
by shrieks of glee, are all very irresistible and funny, but 
all the same they are sleepless hours for Mamma.” 

“Willie is seen for the first time in his white fur cloak, 
lined with crimson. The little man is quite as proud as 
any girl with a new out-fit. The promising little fellow 
has been particularly elegant today, and showed off 


24 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

grandly to company, in his embroidered blue robe and 
later in his white fur cloak and crimson and white hat 
and white feathers. Too charming! The nurses, Bappi 
and Pauline, tell me that he conducts himself in a re¬ 
markably “lustig” (jolly) manner in the street, and they 
are often stopped with the inquiry “Von zven ist das 
schone kind?” (Whose is that beautiful child?) Imagine 
the pride and complacency of those nurses!” 

“Mamie is growing so very pretty, but Willie is the 
beauty of the family now. The new slippers fit beauti¬ 
fully. He kicks and stamps this article of dress out very 
rapidly, with his jolly pounders on his green rug. Pie is 
the best little fellow in the day, and Mamma’s darling 
treasure.” 

“I enjoy my quiet plays on the piano very much. The 
children gather around me so happily, and the perform¬ 
ance generally concludes with a merry polka, in which the 
nurses are included. Willie thinks it great fun, and in¬ 
sists upon his whirl too, in nurse’s arms.” 

Under “nightly soliloquies” we read: “It entertains 
me immensely to listen to him in the dead of night, talk¬ 
ing, babbling away his stories to his friendly morsel. The 
oration every now and then is varied by plunges, kicks 
and peals of solo merriment, as he bobs about in his little 
bed. I can hear him as deep in his narration he crams 
the bread into his mouth, and then with muffled mumbles 
of delight, he throws away the crust only to bob up and 
seek it in the mysteries of pillow, sheet or blanket, and 
when found, the joyous snorts of gratification produce 
convulsive echoes of still merriment from the enraptured 
listener.” 

“This little by-play is generally brought on about two 
o’clock at night, and continues from a half to one hour— 
until this sprig of vivacity, wearied even with his own 
comedy, relapses back into dreamland. I often feel that 


mother’s record op my babyhood 25 

this bright happy intensity is the forewarner of great 
strength to resist the usual troubles and discontents of life, 
—as with his great sensitiveness of temperament, it will 
all be probably needed to aid him in keeping up the 
healthy balance.” 

“Ocean Grove, August 1884.—I find truly that Will 
was endued with this happy disposition by a good Provi¬ 
dence (who seeth all things) as an armor of strength and 
truth to meet all the vicissitudes of life.” 

“January 4th, 1865.—Willie is bright and happy this 
morning, amusing himself in the nursery by climbing up 
by chairs, and bobbing away furiously. He is very busy 
calling out names, mentioning ‘Anna, Anna’ very dis¬ 
tinctly to-day.” 

“He has appeared in short dresses to-day, and he 
looks too cunning in them—celebrating the occasion by 
sundry and wonderful feats in walking and pushing a 
chair before him. He has the most waggish face I ever 
saw on a baby. There is something so shrewd even in his 
merriest looks, particularly when he tries to make us 
laugh, by his pranks, and will not smile himself.” 

“January 24th—He has a fine temper of his own I 
perceive, as he manifested to-day, when both Mamie and 
he, were regaling on bon-bons. His candy disappeared 
and then master held out his hand for sister’s, and when 
it was refused, the young prince threw himself back, 
heels up in furious kickings and yells of wrath, quite ap¬ 
palling to Mamma—in the next room. Once reproved 
and recovered, however, from this tantrum, he began to 
laugh and scramble back to his Mamie, who with the for¬ 
giving spirit of woman took him into favor again.” 

“January 29th—I notice that Willie has lost in 
Mamie’s estimation since that unwarrantable display of 
manhood. He does not know it yet, but will discover 


26 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

later, that he cannot trample on the female rights, even 
in nursery life/’ 

“Johnnie is all impulse, combined with quick penetra¬ 
tion and determination, great observation, all coupled with 
an extensive idea of self-respect. At this time, Willie 
converses most intelligibly in sounds of ‘mam-mam’ and 
‘bob-bob/ He rolls over and over on the floor in great 
glee, patting away at the floor, with those extreme fisti¬ 
cuffs in great gusto. Quick and observant he is, and his 
future is maternally predicted in colors lively and bright.” 

“January 8th, 1865.—Willie finds it very telling to go 
and pick up things and bring them to us—for thanks— 
and as we return them to him, he looks so wise, and happy 
as he remarks ‘ta ta/ a performance which he renews 
again and again—so proud of being commended for his 
politeness of behavior. He is charmed with John’s strong 
arms, and I do not know which one of the pair is the 
happiest. It is amusing to see the little man ‘show fight’ 
whenever anyone but mamma, or nurse, interrupts his 
play on the floor. As soon as he sees the children coming, 
he begins to scold, and not gently by any means—acting 
with all the peremptoriness of two years growth. His 
sharp, quizzical glance is happily ameliorated by a sweet¬ 
ness of character, and an intense sense of justice, though 
he must have his yell of disappointment, even at his season 
of yielding.” 

“It is said now that Willie is becoming the rogue and 
romp of the family, under the instructive tuition of his 
brother and sisters.” 

In writing long after of these days at Tegernsee, my 
mother says: “I remember a bright, vivacious baby in 
our midst answering to the name of Willie, who led a life 
of healthy, happy existence. His remarkable trials con¬ 
sisted of a pretty bundle of lively amiability. He seemed 
to cry—only with a tear in the corner of the eye—in fact, 


mother’s record of my babyhood 27 

it seemed like a sob of some wounded deer, whose sensi¬ 
tive shy pride could not brook an outward demonstration. 
Perhaps this extreme shyness, not timidity, gave the un¬ 
usual pathos, which his little voice breathed forth for a 
year or two, at times. Then again the merry side would 
peal forth in convulsive laughter—very intense and mirth¬ 
ful/’ 

I cannot remember just now any particular family 
event at those days. “We passed the time in long walks, 
excursions, readings and domestic life, interrupted with 
visits from a few friends—American and English, who 
strayed down to this charmnig spot.” 

“Annie, little mother-heart, proved an invaluable 
‘aide-de-camp’ in the affectionate tutelage of little 
brother, while Mamie constituted herself the principal 
amusement fund for his little Lordship.” 

“John had not yet commenced his athletic experiments 
with his brother-protege, but he lovingly contributed to 
the bringing up of the last scion of the house. The baby 
had his part in the domestic drama, very fully, for he 
was such a darling,—very apart in his character from 
the other children—and very interesting in this very dis¬ 
tinction. Amiable, yet spunky; retiring, yet very self 
dependent,—a sly joker all on his own account.” 

“Willie, Mamie and Annie were devoted to each 
other—and looked up to Annie as the queen of their as¬ 
pirations. The little snugglings of fun, and the moral re¬ 
sistance of Willie to sister Mamie’s anxious authority, in 
those days, were irresistibly funny. The little maiden and 
her young pet brother proved a source of very loving ob¬ 
servation in the family; he, with his vivacious glee—and 
sensitive quiver of the lip,—and she, with her demure 
matronly manners with little brother.” 

“The two nurses with their charges, kept the little ones 
out doors from morning till night—(meal times ex- 


28 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

cepted). There would be the afternoon long walks, with 
both nurses generally, and all the children—up hill 
through charming woods, over beautiful walks (kept in 
order by Prince Karl of Bavaria) to some destined sum¬ 
mit, where Mamma would read, or sew, whilst nurses and 
children roamed about picking flowers, or joining in quiet 
rest after the long climb. Towards sunset Mamma would 
close her book, after a trance of delight in the enjoyment 
of the exquisite, and distant mountain-and-lake-scenes. 
Never to be forgotten hours, when the young mother lived 
in her children, and the growth—resulting from so much 
close communion with foreign scenes, and nature’s broad 
winning teachings.” 

“The signal thus given by Mamma, my darling flock 
would rush to the rustic seats and tables, all so eager and 
hungry for brown bread and butter, cottage-cheese and 
coffee, or beer. Willikin had his munch of zwieback and 
milk. As the sun went down we gathered ourselves up 
for the downward path for home, generally arriving about 
tea-time with hearts so happy and blithe, fresh and pure. 
Oh, how those little blossoms did thrive and grow in 
these climes! Day after day, thus, we would take our 
afternoon excursions—to different spots—generally up to 
lovely summits, sometimes down in the valley, and oft in 
row boats on the lake. These were simple happy days 
when Mamma would look around and see all the dear 
children at her side, all so well, joyous and happy. The 
little dears slept so well at night, too, strengthened by this 
out-of-door life. Also their temperaments were soothed 
and enlarged by this daily intercourse with the outer 
world of nature. The inner growth of one is naturally 
tinged with the strength and interest of such a life.” 

“One of our charming walks led to rushing falls in a 
deep, wild ravine. We generally spent most of the day 
in such places. Our little man used to think it fine fun to 


mother’s record of my babyhood 29 

caper about as near the brink as possible, innocently un¬ 
conscious of all danger. Thus the summer passed (1866) 
and we journeyed on to Nice, France, where we spent the 
winter.” 

“Nice, France, 1866—Willie had his own nurse to 
himself—a kind girl of Nice who was devoted to him. At 
one of our dinners given to General and Mrs. McClellan, 
Bishop Stevens and daughter of Philadelphia, U. S., 
Cousin Nathan Smith and wife, gave us also the pleasure 
of their society. Willie thrived well in Nice and was the 
pet of the family, and made himself a hero in baby ath¬ 
letics and summary prowess of action.” 

Of Nice I cannot say that I remember anything defin¬ 
itely, but when the family moved to Switzerland, in 1867 
after the winter at Nice, certain memories begin to detach 
themselves. 

The summer of 1868 was spent at Bex in the Rhone 
Valley, where I had an amusing encounter with an animal, 
whose actions took me entirely by surprise. I was four 
years of age at the time, and very curious about the ani¬ 
mals in the stable of the country Pension, in which we 
had settled for the summer. It was my habit to haunt the 
outbuildings and talk to the man in charge as best I knew 
how in those days. There was a small flock of sheep 
which interested me particularly because sheep are not 
very plentiful in Switzerland while cows are decidedly 
so. I was in the stable one day petting the sheep in their 
little pen and had started to go out of the door when the 
stable man opened the pen and the sheep darted out to get 
into the pasture. As I turned and faced them, the ram 
of the little flock butted full tilt into me, upsetting me, and 
sending me sprawling over the floor. My surprise was 
even greater than my indignation. I had never heard that 
sheep butted; I had supposed that they were always 
gentle and kind. For years after I was on my guard 


30 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

against sheep, wary and suspicious of their movements 
and looked for a place of safety when they began to move 
fast. Of this time at Bex my mother writes: “At Bex,— 
Willie, a youth of four years, was still fulfilling the 
promise of his early days,—a straightforward little war¬ 
rior in his manful fight with life. His struggles on the 
platform of amusements, growth, character and appetite 
were delightful to witness.” 

“We spent a summer season at a delightful Pension 
‘Mon Chalet’—a mile and a half from the town of Bex. 
Grandma and Aunties, lived in the Pension while we col¬ 
onised at a charming cottage. The governess accom¬ 
panied us (from Vevey) teaching the children German 
and French. Willikin flourished and reveled in happy 
baby life of four years, in these days,—a very amiable, 
sensitive, joyous child, yet endowed with nature’s own 
temper, on necessary occasions (to him). He was so 
bright and funny, so irrisistibly genial and cute. Johnnie, 
the grand mogul of domestic infantry always talked well 
and wisely, the baby-brother ever lending a helping hand 
to his young Highness. And Annie, the little maternal 
heart, took him into the flock of her responsible cares, 
with her usual forethought and love. Little Mamie—of 
two years—found a new plaything, and by dint of mutual 
thumps and bumps they became very well acquainted and 
irrevelantly tolerant of each other’s charms—a tolerance 
which promises to stand fast, and hold through the ‘ever 
and evermore.’ Mamie—askance—and yet ever fascin¬ 
ated by the growing prowess of little brother ‘kept her 
own’—an example quickly followed by her Willie,—an 
‘ensemble’ worth mentioning. Mamie and he remained 
firm in the pranks of lovely childhood, ever without jeal¬ 
ousy or malice intent. Their hours of gambol and beauti¬ 
ful friskiness were untainted by ugly or evil actions. 
Peace and love reigned paramount with all the children. 


mother’s record of my babyhood 31 
The little mysteries of childish misunderstandings being 
swept away by a general reign of consideration for each 
other’s feelings—even in those early days.” 

“Vevey 1868-69—Willie grew on and up in stature, 
and strength of mind, frisking about so full of amiable 
vivacity. The little girls cared gently for dear little 
brother, while Johnnie began already upon Willie’s ap¬ 
prenticeship in infantry athletics. Willie’s great ambition 
was naturally directed to scenic effects of somersaults and 
gleeful gallops thru’ the garden, while brother Johnnie 
looked on with fraternal indulgence, particularly in those 
younger days.” 

Of the summer of 1869, in the Engadine, at the Min¬ 
eral Springs of Tarasp, my mother writes: “The drives 
from Tarasp, on the wild river side, were of such alter¬ 
nating grandeur and sweet repose that I find it difficult to 
describe. I drove often with the children from Schuls 
over these beautiful roads. Ruins, old castles and wierd 
nature, greeted our view, constantly in this wild ravine. 
Willie, little man, enjoyed these drives as well as the 
others, in his own line of capacity. In fact the children 
were so accustomed to these changes of enjoyment, in 
travel, that they grew to it rapidly, and it became second 
nature with them to accept it all as part of lovely and 
instructive existence. Their absorbing powers were quick¬ 
ened and their appreciation of noble, beautiful and health¬ 
ful impressions strengthened, in making these excusions 
and taking these exquisite drives. It was enjoying it 
with appreciative companions as they quickly developed 
their tastes and informations. A beautiful view, a fine 
ruin, a drive, strange architecture, etc., always drew from 
them exclamations of interest and comparison with other 
scenes.” 

“Willie always behaved like a little hero on these long 
rides, and when he could be where he saw the ponies, 


32 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

naturally his enthusiasms were more intense. Johnnie, 
Annie and Mamie all shared in the same devotion to the 
coupe seats, though the older ones certainly aspired to 
higher enjoyments than horse flesh.” 

“The winter of ’69-70 found us in a new and charming 
apartment at Maison Gunther, where we remained until 
the summer of 1872. Willie rapidly developed into a 
bright, active, knowing boy, and one might almost call 
the favorite,—a charming, affectionate, shy, yet manly 
little spirit. One of his terrors, yet a great pride also, 
was his athletic training under brother John, who at the 
age of 13-14 (and so on until maturer periods) was in¬ 
tense in his manner of application, tho’ carried out with 
the utmost strictness of duty, on his part.” 

“Willie’s bright eyes and winning amiability always 
won him the devotion of his nurses, and this, added to the 
affection of the family, surrounded him in those days with 
bright happy hours. The little blossom, blooming, must 
have realized, methinks, this radius of love and care, 
for he always seemed so happy and lovely.” 

My mother’s journals are unique in themselves. She 
wrote one for each of us four children, had them bound 
in leather, with names and dates stamped on the back, 
and then wrote some further ones to record her own 
special experiences. These journals, in addition to bio¬ 
graphical matter relating to the members of our family, 
contain also many pictures taken from illustrated periodi¬ 
cals, picture cards, and souvenirs of one kind or another 
to recall places visited, the whole forming an absolutely 
original collection of impressions concerning art, music, 
travel and the beauties of nature. 


CHAPTER III 

Boyhood Days in Switzerland 

I cannot say exactly when my aunts and grand¬ 
mother left Clarens for Bern, Switzerland, but one fine 
day we found ourselves visiting them in a pleasant villa 
called Sonnenberg, a white house with green blinds, on 
the Schaenzli, overlooking the swift flowing blue green 
river Aar, and the city of Bern stretching in front of us 
on the opposite bank. This was the house of Mrs. Eliza¬ 
beth Simpkin, a Swiss lady, who had married an English¬ 
man, one of the most interesting women I have ever 
known. She was what might be termed an advanced 
woman, believing in women’s rights and herself most 
efficient in ways generally supposed to belong only to 
men. She was full of resources and very active with a 
wholesome disregard of the limitations which the world 
customarily places on women. She was deeply religious, 
in a hearty sort of way, and for years joined my aunts in 
their daily Bible studies. She grew to be a constant joy 
to us children, for she was always doing something, carry¬ 
ing out some plan, going on some excursion, doing the 
unexpected. This phase of her character came out more 
strongly later when she moved to Interlaken and opened 
a Pension at the point on the road between Unterseen and 
the Lake of Thun, where the three snow giants of the 
Bernese Oberland can be seen together, the Yungfrau, 
Moench and Eiger. 

The house on the Schaenzli in Bern was spacious and 
had a sloping garden in front into which a large round 
fountain basin had been built which was my delight. In 
the middle a graceful jet of water rose some ten feet into 
the air and fell back in beautiful curves of spray. This 
fountain basin fascinated me; I got so close to it one day, 
that I slipped in up to my middle, but managed to hide 
33 


34 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

my wet condition from my elders until I had dried off. 
At night I would hear the steady trickle of the fountain 
as I fell asleep and again as I awoke in the morning. It 
was to me a gentle companion and a joy. All my life I 
have had a special pleasure in playing fountains and have 
longed to have one of my own. Closely associated with 
this love is another, that for terraces, perhaps the result 
of playing on the terrace of St. Martin at Vevey in those 
early years, and being accustomed to climb to points of 
view with wide outlooks. All my life I have admired 
terraces shaded by trees and provided with stone balus¬ 
trades. To be quite perfect these terraces must be 
graveled and have green benches and the view must ex¬ 
tend over a lake or plain to some further mountains. 

My visits to the villa Sonnenberg on the Schaenzli in 
Bern were suddenly cut off by the fact that my grand¬ 
mother McCrackan died in Mrs. Simpkin’s house, on No¬ 
vember 10th, 1870, and was buried in the cemetery of 
Bern. 

I do not remember attending any funeral. Probably 
the younger children stayed in Vevey. I only remember 
that for sometime grandmother’s hymn was sung with 
special emphasis and solemnity in her memory on Sunday 
evenings. Thereafter she remained for us a tradition, a 
dim figure sitting upon a throne wearing a jeweled turban, 
the object of special reverence. 

Mrs. Simpkin had two daughters, Nellie and Florrie, 
who became the especial care of my aunts and our play¬ 
fellows, though they were somewhat younger than our¬ 
selves. 

After my grandmother’s death my aunts made their 
home in the Pension Anglaise, or English Pension, which 
Mrs. Simpkin opened on the road from the lake of Thun 
to Unterseen and Interlaken. They devoted themselves 
whole heartedly to Mrs. Simpkin and her two daughters. 


BOYHOOD DAYS IN SWITZERLAND 35 

and the Pension Anglaise became for us children, and 
particularly for me, a veritable joy. I loved every stick 
and stone of its surroundings, every room in its quaint 
wooden interior, playing in the hay loft and the stables 
and in the juicy grass of the meadows behind and beside 
the house. What a picture the garden with its graveled 
walks, the swift current of the deep blue Aar which was 
just perceptible across the fields, the wooded hill of the 
Heimwehfluh, the converging ranges of the Abendberg 
and the Schienige Platte and the exalted stateliness of 
the three snow peaks framed in between! Later when I 
was at boarding school, in Kornthal, near Stuttgart, I used 
to dream of this picture. It was an inspiration to me. 
I could not make others understand how precious it was, 
or how it had sunk into my very being, but I treasured it 
and kept it hidden in my heart until years later I wrote of 
it in my books on Switzerland. 

We continued to live in Vevey after my aunts had 
settled in Interlaken. Our summers were not spent en¬ 
tirely with them. I remember certain summers at Loeche- 
les-Bains, some hot springs off from the Rhone Valley at 
the southern foot of the Gemmi Pass. At that time many 
French families of the imperial regime who found their 
presence unwelcome in the newly constituted French 
Republic resorted to Loeche, and gave the sober little place 
a new element of gaiety. If I am not mistaken some 
members of the deposed Bonaparte family were there. 
We used to dance in the evenings and promenade up and 
down the only level stretch in the valley. The French 
were full of prattle, for even in their defeat they did not 
lose their manners. In those days German tourists were 
almost unheard of; the English, of course, were in the 
majority, and there was always a sprinkling of Ameri¬ 
cans, while in the French speaking Cantons of Switzer¬ 
land, Russian and French visitors abounded. 


36 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

There were two great public baths in Loeche, one for 
the poorer native bathers, and another one for the for¬ 
eign visitors. The water was very hot. Men and women 
bathed in common in long flannel robes. As the cure was 
supposed to demand that people should soak for several 
hours in the water, the bathers were provided with little 
floating boards, on which breakfast was served, and on 
which they afterward played chess and checkers. We 
children took the baths as an excuse for a frolic, and 
learned to be very expert in squirting water at each 
other and others with the pressure of the two hands. 
Whenever visitors entered the gallery, which ran by the 
side of the bath, they were immediately handed a bag on 
a pole for a donation to the poor. If they tried to avoid 
the bag or refused to give, they were pelted with water 
and those who were expert at squirting water between 
their hands drove them from the place with howls of 
derision. 

Loeche-les-Bains lies in a pocket. On one side rise 
the frowning cliffs of the Gemmi Pass on which a narrow 
zig-zag path has been cut to the top; on the other side 
is the mountain of the Torrenthorn, with which a very 
startling experience of my life is associated. Of this I 
shall speak presently. Let me first recall a little incident 
trifling in itself, but capable of a useful interpretation. 
A little boy friend and myself were enthusiastic butterfly 
catchers. Provided with the necessary gauze nets we 
wandered one day around the fields which skirted the 
level promenade until we entered the woods at the further 
end. Completely absorbed in our butterfly catching we 
wandered on and on in the enchanted valley, darting after 
the beautiful insects in the clearings, while the sun beamed 
through the branches and the wind shook the tree tops. 
We must have been gone a long time, for when we finally 
sauntered back leisurely towards the hotel, we were met 


BOYHOOD DAYS IN SWITZERLAND 37 

by a yeritable search party of our elders who began to 
scold us for having given them such a fright. I can 
recall now my puzzled thoughts, which were similar to 
those I had when I was stopped from carrying away my 
little Russian friend’s toy horse-car. Why should they 
have been frightened, I thought; I knew I was safe all 
the time. What were they worrying about ? 

One mid-night my father, Mamie and I set out to 
climb the Torrenthorn in order to arrive at the top by 
sunrise. My father walked, but he had provided a mule 
with its guide for us two children, to be used alternately. 
We reached the top while it was yet dark, and saw the 
whole glorious process of the sunrise in the Alps; the 
first touch of the rays upon the top-most snow peaks and 
the gradual piercing of the mountain valleys by the life- 
giving sunlight. On the way down a mishap occurred 
which put a stop to my mountain climbing for that season. 
We had reached a point below the timber line and were 
entering the forest at the time. Here let my mother’s 
journal give her account of the accident as she recorded 
it:— 

“In 1872, Willie met with an accident which might 
have been fearful in its consequences. Papa, Mamie and 
he made the excursion to the Torrenthorn. Willie was 
eight years of age. I believe they started at twelve 
o’clock night to reach the summit, 9,679 feet, in three and 
a half hours. This height commands a wonderfully fine 
panorama, an unbroken series of peaks, from Mont Blanc 
to the Simplon, with the Westhorn, or Bretschorn above 
the Lotschenthal and, at the head of that valley, or the 
principal Oberland peaks. The ridge ends in a precipice, 
dropping to wild crags, and the head of the small glacier 
Maing. They made a high ascent, but on descending, as 
Willie was being dismounted from his and Mamie’s mule, 
the unruly animal backed up against the railing of the 


38 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

zig-zag path, at the corner of a winding, thus dislodging 
the railing which flew in all directions. Dear Willie had 
been pressed through one of the openings and to the 
horror of father, sister, and guides, the dear little fellow 
disappeared entirely out of sight, with outlifted arms, 
calling out, ‘Mamma, Mamma’! The mule followed him 
over the brink, dashing backwards with crash and final 
thud, deep below, hundreds of feet. Then all was still, 
save a low murmur of ‘Mamma, Mamma’. Following 
the waft of whisper they caught sight of the lost boy, 
lying in a bush near, very near the edge of a precipice 
below them. He had thus been caught in his downward 
course, and by his light weight saved from further dan¬ 
ger, while the mule dashed over him, down that preci¬ 
pice, near the edge of which our darling was lying stunned 
and bleeding. Guides and tourists coming up the moun¬ 
tain, rushed into side ways and discovered the uncon¬ 
scious child before our party could reach him. Mean¬ 
while, dear Mamie, who had been kicked and jammed 
in the leg by the passing mule, rolled down the mountain 
side a way. She described herself as being left alone 
to pick herself up with aching leg, and horrow-stricken 
heart, while the others were wildly and sadly looking out 
for dear little brother.” 

“Willie was brought home to me, semiunconscious, 
and immediately attended to by the hotel physician who 
found no bones broken, but who had fears of the head 
and back for the future. Ice was packed over the dear 
little head and then ensued a season of such intense dis¬ 
tress and anxiety. He would open his eyes and smile, 
say ‘Mamma’ and then sleep again, scarcely expressing 
any pain. In about three days the suspense was over 
and he rallied very quickly. I think it was only six or 
seven days before he was down stairs at the dinner table 
with us, the hero of the hotel and place. He bore it 


BOYHOOD DAYS IN SWITZERLAND 39 

with his usual sweetness and manly behavior which have 
always been his chief characteristics. I never shall for¬ 
get his reassuring smiles. It was almost unearthly, so 
pathetic and glorious—all at once,—and such a sure 
indication of his character at all times. ‘The flower of 
the family" well earned his title, though as a mother I 
considered them all ‘flowers", and consider them so still, 
all equally worthy of the same title. The only solicitous 
result was an unnatural nervousness, which lasted about 
six months and then passed entirely away, under careful 
*.Laissez aller’ training."" 

For myself, I can remember clutching at every pro¬ 
jection as I rolled down the mountain and so gradually 
breaking any headway until I lay helpless. I can also 
remember my mother’s anxious face as she met me in 
the early morning on our return to Loeche after the 
accident, also my being put to bed. Mamie brought to 
my bedside all her toys and the treasures she had picked 
up in the mountains such as bright colored stones, etc., 
and gave them all to me without reservation. In my 
semi-dosing condition this love of my sister seemed to 
impress me more than all else about this whole experi¬ 
ence. Her act is just as vivid in my thought now as 
the day it occurred. 

As a family we were all homeopathists. I cannot 
recall taking any of the nauseous doses that most children 
were forced to swallow. We rather enjoyed the sugar 
pellets which my mother and aunts kept in pretty bottles 
inside of neat leather medicine cases. I am not so sure 
that taking medicine was not considered rather a pleasant 
joke by us children. We certainly never avoided the 
medicine bottle, but came to it at the call, meek as lambs 
and quite as willing. My homeopathic beginnings are 
listed among the many reasons for gratitude which I 
cherish towards my mother and in a degree also towards 


40 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

my aunts. My father acquiesced in our homeopathic 
practices so that I include him in this ring of thanks¬ 
giving. In after years I learned to be grateful that the 
crudities of medical belief had never been instilled into 
my mind as a child, thus preparing me in a measure to 
recognize medicine more and more as mental. 

The French guests at the hotel in Loeche-les-Bains 
had a very strong conviction that drinking water at any 
time was rather risky, and drinking it after eating fruit 
was almost sure to be fatal. When the Comings joined 
us there and we Americans all sat together at table d’hote, 
drinking water perfectly recklessly, our best friends 
among the French used to watch us with ominous shak¬ 
ings of the head. Little decanters of white or red wine 
were placed beside each plate and the French people felt 
that there was no excuse for this uncalled for water drink¬ 
ing. On more than one occasion I was privately warned 
by anxious mothers of the awful consequences of mixing 
fruit with water; besides, the effect of our American fool¬ 
hardiness was most disconcerting to these good people. 

Here let me introduce another extract from my 
mother’s journal referring to Loeche days. “1874, 
Leukerbad (Loeche-les-Bains) : Our summers there were 
passed in happy hours, meeting with people of all na¬ 
tions; baths, walks, excursions, music and dancing gen¬ 
erally in the evenings; parlor concerts for charity, at 
which John distinguished himself at the violin, and Mamie 
and Nellie (Corning) at the piano en duett, at the age 
of twelve. I remember well the admiration that Willie 
and Nellie (Corning) elicited from the evening crowds, 
by their exquisite dancing. It was a dainty sight indeed 
—Willie so courteous to his partner, with his handsome 
face, and Nellie, the little coquette. These years of travel 
were happy ones. This exquisite life of outdoor enjoy¬ 
ment, and study combined, laid the foundation, I am 


BOYHOOD DAYS IN SWITZERLAND 41 

sure, of their strong simplicity and beauty of taste and 
their happy or rather philosophical yielding to circum- 
stances. ,, 

Closely intertwined with my childhood joys is the 
recollection of the wild flowers of Switzerland. The 
slopes behind Vevey and Montreux, facing the south, are 
particularly favored by position and climate to grow an 
abundant crop of some of the loveliest of those wild 
flowers which grace the districts below the snow line. 
In the month of May, the white narcissus with its yellow 
centre and delicious perfume covers the fields with gleam¬ 
ing splashes resembling snow patches. This flower so 
highly prized in America offers itself in countless num¬ 
bers, free to all for the picking. Those were gleeful 
spring-tide days when we children spread ourselves over 
the grass gathering handfuls of the precious flower with 
shouts of triumph. Sweet scented violets, both the pur¬ 
ple and the white variety, were found in profusion along 
the briar hedges, forget-me-nots and primroses were 
among the earliest to cover the banks of the brooks with 
glory. The cowslips also of the open field were much 
liked by us and the buttercups in moist places. 

As I grew older and became acquainted with the wild 
flowers of the higher altitudes I promptly adopted for 
my special favorite the little star gentian of the Alps. 
I have never wavered in my loyalty to this bright moun¬ 
tain friend no matter how resplendent the floral beauties 
of other climes may have appeared to me. The closest 
competitor for my affections among the wild flowers 
came in the form of the Mayflower of New Hampshire, 
the trailing arbutus which I learned to know so well dur¬ 
ing my school days in Concord, New Hampshire. This 
too is a star shaped little messenger. The Alpine gentian 
to which I refer is of an intense blue, such as I have 
never seen matched by any other member of the floral 


42 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

kingdom. This blue is not exactly that of the sea nor 
that of the sky, but a glorious blend of the two, typifying 
a superb union of the water and the air. The star gentian 
grows close to the ground in the short crisp grass of the 
mountains, sometimes individually and again clustered in 
little groups of vivid color which literally jumps to the 
eyes, as the French say. There is a joyous white centre 
amid the blue but no shading off in color, just a single 
powerful expression of utmost liveliness. To pounce 
upon one of these when the climbing season began in 
the early summer, was a supreme delight, to kneel upon 
the juicy sod and stick it in my hat was an added exhila¬ 
ration. These gentians could be taken home, placed in 
a dish filled with water and so would remain fresh for 
many a glad day. 

Another flower of which I was very fond was the 
alpine rose, a wild rhododendron which grows on exposed 
points above the timber line. The far famed edelweiss 
I did not gather as a boy, it had already begun to be 
scarce on account of its sale to the tourists. It was 
only later in my mountain climbing experiences that I 
picked this flower in the Alps. It also is star shaped 
but has no special beauty of color being of a dull white 
with a yellowish centre and its texture like felt. In the 
steep woods back of the Pension Simpkin we used to find 
the lovely megenta colored cyclamen, a flower which is 
cultivated in America and a great favorite as a potted 
plant for the window. The wild cyclamen is sweet scented 
and the underpart of the leaf is red, oft about the same 
hue as the flower itself. In these woods there were sup¬ 
posed to be some snakes, and, rumor said, bad ones too, 
but I never met that kind. 

I early learned to admire also many other varieties 
of gentians, especially the single bell gentian which lays 
its head upon the turf and glories also in great brilliancy 


BOYHOOD DAYS IN SWITZERLAND 43 

of blue which shades off towards the centre. In the fall 
a dark blue gentian used to grow in the marshes of the 
lowlands, several flowers upon a long stalk. This flower 
grows also in New Hampshire and in certain of the middle 
states of the United States. A pale lavender fringed 
gentian we used to find in great profusion on the Gemmi 
Pass in Switzerland. There were also the little wild 
pinks, the purple daisies, the many varieties of primulas 
and the flowering rock mosses. 

My mother would take some of the flowers we had 
gathered for her and placing them on the table would 
copy them in embroidery. This original work was much 
admired; some pieces of her embroidery are still pre¬ 
served in the family. 

For Christmas times there was always a great abun- 
dancy of holly and mistletoe, both being very beautiful 
though frowned upon by genuine agriculturalists as 
nuisances. Never do I remember such glossy spikey 
leaves and redder berries than those of the holly trees 
in the Swiss woods, but the state forester could not say 
a good word for them; he made it his business to ex¬ 
tirpate them as far as possible. The mistletoe grew 
principally on the great walnut trees along the roads 
and in the fields. 

Among my feathered friends the birds, I reckon the 
gulls which lived on Lake Leman, voracious and shriek¬ 
ing over the minnows which ventured too near the sur¬ 
face of the water. They had their principal homes at 
the upper end of the lake at the mouth of the river 
Rhone where some wide sand bars offered secluded places. 
They were particularly expert in snatching bits of bread 
thrown into the air, as they swooped by with great swift¬ 
ness. The usual European song birds are to be found 
in Switzerland, the skylark, robin redbreast, and night- 


44 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

ingales in sheltered garden thickets. I recall the magpies 
darting among the apple orchards with sudden cries. 
Many stories were told us of the way they had been 
known to steal bright bits of jewelry or silver and carry 
them off to their nests, but with all my watching I never 
saw a magpie carry off anything more valuable than a 
worm. In the woods at Interlaken, we sometimes heard 
owls or came upon foxes running through the clearings. 

In the heights I frequently saw the amusing mar¬ 
mots, not unlike American woodchucks, but somewhat 
larger and heavier. They lived in colonies among the 
rocks just beneath the line of perpetual snow and had a 
regular system of defence. A sentinel would be stationed 
to observe all intruders; as soon as anyone was sighted 
coming up the mountain this sentinel would whistle a 
shrill note of warning and the whole colony would disap¬ 
pear like a flash into their holes. Boys from Savoy fre¬ 
quently caught and trained them, travelling about to eke 
out a pittance. At Loeche I remember meeting a Savo¬ 
yard boy who had a marmot which he had trained to say, 
“Papa” and “Mama” quite distinctly. As for the chamois 
I never got a good sight of them in their wild state 
except through a telescope. I have however, seen their 
tracks on the upper snows when they had been frightened 
by my approach and had taken great leaps, some twenty 
feet in length. 

From the Schynige Platte above Interlaken, the view 
of the snow giants of the Bernese Oberland is particu¬ 
larly fine. Here it was that I saw the daughter of Queen 
Victoria, the then Crown Princess of Germany and her 
suite. There was no railroad to the top in those days 
and those who did not walk rode on horseback by the 
very steep path. I can recall that there was quite a 
company and several horses in the Princess’ party; she 
herself was walking when she reached the top and I was 


BOYHOOD DAYS IN SWITZERLAND 45 

especially struck with the fact that so distinguished a 
lady should wear a red bandana handkerchief wound 
around her head. Her enjoyment of the exploit was 
very evident and her manner was unaffected and uncon¬ 
ventional, more so than that of her suite. She had a 
wholesome, ruddy, sunburnt face and looked like a girl 
out on a lark. From what I have learned since I can 
guess that she was glad of the momentary freedom from 
the stiff German entourage. 

The summer of 1870 was spent principally on the 
Rigi, at a place on this mountain designated as Rigi- 
Klosterli, on account of a little pilgrimage chapel main¬ 
tained there. Of our stay on the Rigi my mother writes 
in her journal: “The children enjoyed the daily milk, fresh 
from the cow, and presented themselves always with 
their glass as the cows were brought up to the hotel 
to be milked. We spent a few weeks there of quiet rural 
enjoyment. The air was very exhilarating, and we daily 
took lovely walks below and above, and above all I never 
shall forget the hopeless sensation I had once, when sit¬ 
ting on a mountain top, overlooking the lake, with the 
children and nurse, to find ourselves suddenly enveloped 
in dense sheets of mist which excluded all vision to within 
an outstretched arm. I called loudly for the children. 
They came running to me, but it seemed as if their little 
forms took sinewy shapes of mortal and mist. Together 
we crawled up from my grassy mound, feeling as if great 
tortuous arms might pull us over the edge of our preci¬ 
pice straight down to the lake. With a shiver I turned 
my back to it all almost faint with apprehension that we 
might inadvertently turn around and down to the water’s 
edge. We soon began to run, feeling our way through 
the thickness of fog with bated breath, the little people 
sharing my agitation, until with a bound at last we found 
ourselves completely out of reach of this lake episode. 


46 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

We returned home by the mountain way very exuberant, 
then, over the adventure.” 

At the time of which I am writing there were no 
mountain railroads in Switzerland, except the one on the 
Rigi, which did not, however, run to the very top of the 
range. The most striking recollection of this time was 
a night excursion on foot to the summit of Rigi-Kulm, 
to see the sun rise from that commanding height. To 
us children the trip was full of startling experiences. 
There was first of all the being awakened in the middle 
of the night and finding ourselves dressed at that un¬ 
earthly hour, then there was the mysterious caravan of 
people winding its way up the mountain zig-zags until 
we reached the top. My mother did not make this night 
trip, but went later by day. She rarely walked on these 
long excursions in those days, but used to be carried in 
the manner then very common, on a chair called a Trag- 
sessel , fitted with side poles, one carrier going before and 
the other behind and generally two further guides going 
along to relieve them. We liked to have our mother go 
along, as she deeply loved the wild flowers, and this 
enabled us to bring them to her fresh from the picking 
in order to see her joy and receive her thanks. 

The top of the Rigi-Kulm was reached before the first 
peep of dawn, so that we had the whole effect of the 
earth below lying in darkness, followed by the superb 
touches of red upon the surrounding snow peaks and the 
gradual awakening of lake, countryside and mountain 
under the advancing rays of the sun. This was my first 
of many experiences in watching the sunrise from many 
mountains in many lands. As usual I carried away some 
surprise from such first events,—it was the bitter cold 
on the Rigi-Kulm. We were all wrapped in blankets 
brought from the small hotel situated just below the top, 
but in spite of this the cold cut into my face, and my 


BOYHOOD DAYS IN SWITZERLAND 47 

surprise was, that this could happen in summer. I thought 
much about this and was greatly puzzled. The second 
surprise came when I was told that I must not look into 
the sun after it had risen into the heavens. I found 
myself doing this without any difficulty and wondered 
why others around me thought they found harm in 
doing so. 

Another excursion connected with those early days 
was to the Little Scheidegg in the Bernese Oberland. 
To-day people step into a train and alight at the top of 
the pass without having walked a foot, except to change 
trains at Grindelwald. We took a carriage to Grindel- 
wald from Interlaken, my father, the aunts and chil¬ 
dren. At Grindelwald the horses were unharnessed and 
saddled for the trip up the rough mountain path. Of 
this trip I can only recall that a heavy rainstorm broke 
over us after we had reached the top and that we had 
to make our way down again in the rain. We children 
were wrapped in blankets from the hotel on the pass, 
but in spite of this were drenched to the skin. The 
carriage horses were not accustomed to mountain climb¬ 
ing, so that they labored greatly in making the ascent, 
and were by no means very sure footed in descending. 
We were so heavily muffled in our blankets that we had 
some difficulty in clinging to the wet saddles while the 
horses plunged about in the rain. At one point I was 
found hanging by my stirrups over the edge unable to 
right myself and had to be lifted upon the saddle again. 
This adventure on the Little Scheidegg was long cher¬ 
ished by us all, the various incidents being preserved with 
much glee and told over and over again certainly without 
losing anything thereby. 

It is with the warmest feelings that I look back to 
those wonderful drives over the splendid carriage roads 
which formed the main arteries of travel before the rail- 


48 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

roads came to the Oberland. My favorite seat was on 
the box next to the driver with a full view of the road, 
the horses and the scenery beyond. From this point of 
vantage I saw much of Switzerland, stowing up uncon¬ 
sciously many impressions for future writing upon the 
subject. On the long hills we children used to jump 
down, stretch our legs, pick wayside flowers, find short 
cuts to the upper zigzags, brush the flies from the horses 
and generally disport ourselves. 

With Vevey I associate the following incident of 
childhood temptation, brought about by some chocolate 
creams which my mother kept in a drawer. She was 
generosity itself and gave all of us children more than 
we could ask, and with great impartiality. My mother 
had given each one some of these delicious chocolate 
creams, but in some way I saw where she kept them, in 
a certain bureau drawer, and thereafter several times 
went and helped myself. They tasted remarkably good. 
I could not remember eating anything quite so delicious 
before, but on this occasion I was conscious of doing 
something wrong and I did not feel comfortable about 
it. Undoubtedly I learned my lesson then. 

Another incident connected with Maison Gunther 
comes to mind as I write. While we were at Loeche- 
les-Bains John had been away in the mountains with 
the Corning boys performing prodigies of climbing and 
walking. Tales of their exploits came to my ears through 
several series of repetitions and certainly lost nothing in 
the telling. These three American boys were not likely 
to do anything according to tradition, and it is on record 
for instance that they insisted in sleeping out in a tent 
instead of using the mountain inns and hotels. On his 
return to Vevey John was all for trying out some of 
his mountain exploits on the Maison Gunther. He was 
never a bov who talked much about his exploits; he went 


BOYHOOD DAYS IN SWITZERLAND 49 

to work and did things. Even later in his ministerial 
career he was never merely a preacher but a doer of 
the word. So without much explanation, John decided 
to use me for one of his experiments and harden me at 
the same time. 

The Maison Gunther had a pretty little stone balcony 
out of my mother’s room overlooking the garden. John 
took me to this balcony and tying a rope around my 
middle, let me down over the balcony parapet into the 
garden far below, without a by-your-leave, as far as I 
was concerned. This was repeated several times to make 
sure that the feat was successful. I was just hanging 
in mid air, on one of these aerial descents, when my 
mother and sisters came into the garden and saw the 
startling sight. Of course John and I both greatly en¬ 
joyed their surprise and fear, and promptly repeated the 
performance to show them how easy it was. 

After the conclusion of peace between France and 
Germany my father took John on a visit to Paris to see 
the half destroyed Tuilleries and other evidence of the 
devastation wrought by the Germans and the Commune. 
From there they went to Berlin and saw the entry of 
the triumphant German troops into the capital of the 
New German Empire. When in 1878 we passed through 
Paris on the way home to the United States the ruined 
portions of the Tuilleries were still standing. My father 
at this time also took a trip to Oberammergau in the 
Bavarian Highlands to attend the famous Passion Play. 
Fie was deeply interested in it, and talked to us a good 
deal about it on his return, bringing many photographs 
with him. This is significant on account of the close 
connection John was to have in his later years with 
Oberammergau and his friendship with the peasant actors 
in the Passion Play. 


CHAPTER IV 

School Days in Europe 

In 1872 we left Vevey, Switzerland and moved to 
Stuttgart, the capital of the Kingdom of Wiirttemberg. 
Southern Germany of that day was still largely untouched 
by the ambitious designs of the north. The Franco- 
Prussian war had started much industrial activity and 
there were the beginnings of financial prosperity, but 
there was still great opposition to the rigors of the Prus¬ 
sian military system which was being forced upon the 
country, and to the state tyranny which was creeping into 
the schools. The people of Stuttgart and of Wiirttem- 
berg in general still maintained the traditions which had 
endeared Germany to countless English and American 
visitors. Every large city had its colony of English 
speaking people who were educating their children in 
the excellent schools and musical conservatories and en¬ 
joying the theatrical and operatic performances of the 
state-aided stock companies. A number of American 
boys were always in attendance at the famous universities 
and even joined in a measure in the so-called duelling 
habits of the different corps. There was some inter¬ 
marrying between well-to-do American girls and German 
officers. The children of the home Germans and the 
visiting English and Americans associated freely with 
each other, learned each others’ languages, and gained 
mutually from such companionship. 

The blight of a secret desire for world domination had 
not yet made itself felt in Germany, nor had the study 
of occult psychology fastened its influence upon the gov¬ 
erning thought of the country. The old Emperor Wil¬ 
liam I, made a picturesque figure with his two principal 
supporters, Bismark and Von Moltke. The people of 
southern Germany, and probably of the whole country, 
50 


SCHOOL DAYS IN EUROPE 51 

would have been inexpressibly shocked had they suspected 
the future which was being secretly prepared for them 
by their philosophers and military dreamers. 

The controversy of music in Stuttgart had a wide 
reaching reputation under the pianist Lieber. Con¬ 
noisseurs said that its method was somewhat methodical 
and stiff, but that musicians who acquired its technique 
might later free themselves from its limitations and do 
really great things. All of us children were put to doing 
something in the musical line, but I alone did not carry 
the work forward, and soon gave up the piano lessons, 
which had to be forced upon me, although I retained a 
deep love for music. 

I was first placed in a small school to prepare for the 
lowest class of the Latin Gymnasium as it was called. 
In this first school I was picking up German as a neces¬ 
sary preliminary to entering the big public school. I 
recall going a few times to a teacher for special lessons. 
He used to sit in a dressing room with a great mug of 
beer by his side and had a blotched red face which im¬ 
pressed me as very singular, as I had no conception at 
that time of the disfiguring physical effects of drink. 
He was evidently the typical old professor of the German 
comic paper, as they were depicted in the genial old days. 

There was also some sort of a Sunday school at¬ 
tached to this preparatory school. The teacher of this 
was the direct opposite of the one with the mug of beer. 
He was of a spiritual type and greatly attracted me, for 
I could quickly seize the spiritual import of his questions 
to the class. Later we children attended an English 
Evangelistic service and Sunday school during the rest 
of our stay at Stuttgart. 

In due time I was admitted to the lowest class in the 
Latin Gymnasium and began my studies among typical 
German boys of the city. My lace shoes were at once 


52 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

an object of derision, since all German boys wore high 
boots to the knees, and so for peace sake my father had 
to provide me with boots like the others. Colored caps 
were also worn by the different classes; I can recall that 
mine was a brilliant red. 

In recording my experiences at this school I cannot 
do better than insert here a little article I find in my scrap 
book, written by me at St. Paul’s School, Concord, New 
Hampshire, and printed in the school newspaper, the 
Horae Scholasticae, on March 18th, 1882. 

A German Gymnasium 

(at STUTTGART, WURTTEMBERG) 

I shall never forget my feelings when I passed my 
entrance examinations. The requirements were very 
small; reading and writing, with a little arithmetic, was 
all in which we were examined, yet I have never had less 
breath in my body, nor have my knees ever been in a 
more shaky condition, than they were then. The grave 
professors of that old Gymnasium have always inspired 
me with the greatest awe, and the most profound rever¬ 
ence. If I should meet one some day in New York, in 
the street, I would be sure to step aside, and salute him 
with the most humble of bows, as in the old days when 
we were severely chastised for omitting to conduct our¬ 
selves in the most deferential manner toward our su¬ 
periors. The doors of the building were opened precisely 
at eight o’clock in the morning by the janitor, and in a 
few minutes we were all in our places. Latenesses were 
treated with the stick, except in case of excuses, and 
after a little “prelude” of this kind the studying began. 
We had Latin two or three hours every day; arithmetic, 
geography, and writing, i.e., formation of letters, were 
dispersed between at odd times. Spelling and history 
we learnt from the way in which we studied Latin. We 


SCHOOL DAYS IN EUROPE 53 

used to translate historical anecdotes from our composi¬ 
tion-books, and were then supposed to know not only the 
Latin translation, but also the subject-matter, with any 
dates which might occur. In this manner we learnt some¬ 
thing about history before getting into higher forms, 
where, of course, it was carefully studied. I have here 
been speaking of the two lowest classes, the first and 
second, for my personal experience does not reach any 
higher. Once a week, on Wednesdays, the master, who 
taught us in everything, dictated a German composition 
to be translated in class. This was called the Proloco, 
and was written for our places in class, as the name 
indicates. We had to write it all in class, and I have often 
stayed in the room till after dinner time, puzzling out my 
Proloco. Next morning the master had them all cor¬ 
rected, and would distribute them along the form in the 
order in which we were to sit, calling out the names as 
he went along. How my heart has sunk “sometimes,” 
when the first bench was all occupied, and my name had 
not yet been called! On Saturdays we always had an 
Argumentum , to “prove” what we had learnt during the 
week: often it proved the opposite. This was also a 
written exercise, but we had the privilege of taking that 
home, as it did not decide our positions in the class. 
We all had little note-books, wherein the master wrote 
our “decorum” at the end of the week. It was not in 
the shape of a mark, but he expressed it as “good,” 
“moderate,” etc., except that the German language af¬ 
forded a countless variety of attributes, and by making 
a collection of such the master could make the meaning 
as obscure as he chose. I have no doubt, however, that 
a true German could always have them made out. This 
little book we had to bring back next day with our 
parent’s signature, thus excluding all possibility of giving 
wrong impressions at home. During the two years 


54 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

which I spent there, we never read a single author, but 
studied the grammar and syntax with such application 
that Caesar would not have presented the slightest diffi¬ 
culty to us;—in fact, the idea seems to be to get 
the structure of the language, and a large vocabulary well 
fixed, then only to “read” an author, and not “wade” 
through. 

We learnt, comparatively speaking, very little arith¬ 
metic and geography, but more attention was paid to 
them in the third year, so I heard. They had a strange 
custom of taking an annual walk. Each master took 
charge of his own class, and having met at an appointed 
place in the city, they would start off on a walk, and be 
gone all day. The numerous inns afforded a good oppor¬ 
tunity for refreshments and rest; there was plenty of 
beer after the German fashion, and sometimes wine. But 
what has contributed especially to my admiration of their 
school system was another custom, which, I think, might 
be adopted with good effect in this country. On very 
hot days we used to have the afternoon to ourselves, 
under the name of “heat-holiday.” Then we would all 
go bathing, and such afternoons would wipe out many 
a blue and black mark, or a headache from too much 
banging on the head. In fact, this practice of flogging 
was so frequent that some wretches had to wear thick 
trousers all summer. I think I would do almost anything 
to impress upon the schools of this country the superior 
advantages of the “heat-holiday.” 

The school rooms of the Latin Gymnasium were bare 
and ugly, the discipline sharp and unquestioned; the bam¬ 
boo rod being freely used, the head cuffed or the ears 
pulled as the teacher might fancy. A particularly bad 
“Argumentum” called for several biting strokes on the 
hand, called Tatzen, a flagrant mistake in a Latin con¬ 
jugation was also frequently punished with the rod. All 


SCHOOL DAYS IN EUROPE 


55 


pupils were required to doff their hats instantly when 
passing teachers in the school halls or on the street. A 
failure to do this brought fierce looks and a public scold¬ 
ing, and perhaps a rap on the side of the head. There 
was already creeping into the public schools of Stuttgart 
the first symptoms of that disciplinary hate which steadily 
increased until at the time of the great world war in 
1914, it had become a national vice which was looked 
upon as a virtue. 

It was in the river Neckar at Kannstadt, close to Stutt¬ 
gart, that I finally learned to swim. The accomplishment 
came suddenly after I had been struggling for sometime 
to take a few strokes, but without reaching any control. 
Then one day I found myself swimming naturally and 
knew that the greatly desired ability to swim had come, 
thus giving me an athletic sport which I have enjoyed 
ever since. 

I had a similar experience while learning to skate. 
With some boy friends I found myself one day on a 
hill above Stuttgart. It was at that time a bleak place 
disfigured by a quarry called the Daegerloch. Water had 
collected here and formed a pond which on that day was 
well frozen over. Here I learned to skate as suddenly 
as I had learned to swim in the Neckar. I had tried 
to skate many times before, especially on what was known 
as the Feuersee, a pond situated in Stuttgart itself, in 
front of the church of St. John (Johanniskirche ), but 
without success. On that day, however, at the Daeger¬ 
loch, my previous efforts were crowned with success; 
I found the knack and have greatly enjoyed skating in 
different parts of the world ever since. 

There was an interval before I attended the Latin 
Gymnasium when I went with my sisters to a private 
school conducted by Pastor Schmid and his daughters, 
situated on a street which branched off from the Neckar 


56 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

Strasse. The Schmid family remained friends of ours 
as long as we lived in Stuttgart. They were examples 
of plain living and good education. Of the school itself, 
I remember little, except that it was not large and that 
it was attended by some English and American boys and 
girls who were learning the three R’s and German at 
the same time. 

In walking to that school, we used to pass through 
the long avenue of horse-chestnut trees which skirted the 
old castle and the modern royal palace, and here we fre¬ 
quently met the then King Carl of Wiirttemberg walking 
with his Chamberlain. He was a tall slim man with a 
silky beard and apparently not highly considered by the 
public. I remember once out of bravado twitching his 
long coat as I passed him. 

The kingdom of Wiirttemberg was Protestant. There 
was much genuine spirituality among the people, much 
individual questioning and individual religious experience. 
The process of standardizing all thought and bringing it 
into conformity and uniformity with state policy was 
already going forward, but it had not reached the omi¬ 
nously rapid pace of a few years later. There were 
devout people seeking to know God directly without state 
interference, and the native simplicity, piety and whole¬ 
hearted kindliness of these, acted as good channels for 
religious sincerity. The newly constituted Germany had 
but lately defeated Roman Catholic powers, Austria in 
1866 and France in 1871. To the simple hearted Protes¬ 
tants of Southern Germany, these achievements might 
well have appeared to point to a noble mission for the 
newly arisen great power. Bismark with his Kultur- 
Kamp seemed destined to achieve religious independence 
for the whole empire. Before Bismark’s attempt broke 
down, the Protestants of Southern Germany might well 
have looked upon him as the leader of a great Crusade, a 


SCHOOL DAYS IN EUROPE 57 

modern Luther who might definitely finish the work 
begun at the time of the Reformation. There was little 
in the France of Napoleon III to inspire confidence or 
awaken hope. That country was pitifully priest ridden, 
and therefore lacked public schools. It had been manipu¬ 
lated to such an extent that it was not wise to allow its 
schemes to develop. The good people of Wiirttemberg 
could not have guessed that the breakdown of Bismark’s 
Kultur-Kamp against the Vatican was giving them over 
and the whole of Germany into dependence upon a for¬ 
eign power which eventually in the great world war of 
1914 would use them for its own ends. 

During my residence as a boy in Stuttgart, Germany 
was really deciding its fate. It had an opportunity to 
choose the better part, it was induced to choose the worse; 
but in the Stuttgart of my recollection the outlook for an 
honest, noble, unselfish and generous Germany was still 
excellent. There was a great deal in the public and 
private life of the city which was full of genial charm, 
simple, wholesome and helpful to foreign visitors. 

I find another article in my scrap book, indeed the 
very first which was ever printed and which dealt with 
the regular daily playing of the military band in the great 
square in front of the royal palace. I reprint here from 
the Horae Scholasticae for April 4th, 1881. 

When the Band Plays 
(in stuttgart) 

As the European powers nowadays are forced to 
maintain large standing armies, military bands are nu¬ 
merous. It is desirable that they should have as much 
practice as possible, hence it has become a custom in 
most important cities of the Continent, and especially of 
Germany, to have a band play every day at a fixed time 
and in a fixed place. So also in Stuttgart, the flourish¬ 
ing capital of Wurttemberg. 


58 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

At noon the large court of the barracks is filled with 
soldiers, in the black and red infantry uniform of Ger¬ 
many, while officers, some of them decorated with medals, 
strut around superintending affairs in general. Presently, 
at the word of command, every man is in his place, the 
band at the head, next a detachment of soldiers: with 
the drum and fife, the bright column marches down the 
street, followed by a host of small boys, mimicking the 
dignified tread of the commanding officer, or the move¬ 
ments of the drum-major. As the crowd moves it gathers 
strength, like an avalanche rolling down a snow-slope. 
School-boys and students, just out from their various 
gymnasiums, who are neatly poising the bright-coloured 
caps of their different classes on the sides of their heads, 
fall into step. Everybody falls into step; it is an irre¬ 
sistible impulse, which drives even the smallest urchin 
in the crowd to stretch his legs to their utmost extent. 
As soon as the drum-major, with a final flourish of his 
baton, enters the principal street, the Konigs Strasse, the 
band strikes up a march, the crowd thickens; it is im¬ 
possible to walk in the opposite direction, for the mass 
of human beings carries all before it, and seems animated 
by one impulse only, to keep up with the soldiery. 

At the end of the Konigs Strasse a striking scene 
presents itself. Before you lies a large square, cut into 
countless divisions by gravel-walks, and bright with beds 
of flowers of every description and hue. Curious devices 
are worked out in grasses of various shades, ribbons, 
tassels, etc., while two large fountains, playing inces¬ 
santly, throw water high into the air. These fountains, 
combined with the flowers, give great freshness to the 
whole square. On one side stands the Konigs Bau, 
built by William, the favorite king of Wiirttemberg,— 
a long building, and in Doric style, if my memory does 
not deceive me, somewhat severe, but forming a charm- 


SCHOOL DAYS IN EUROPE 59 

ing contrast with the palace, which is opposite. This 
palace is a fair example of the Renaissance style. It 
consists of a long main building, with two wings almost 
as large as itself, thus forming a court, where the royal 
carriage may often be seen waiting for His Majesty, 
King Karl. On the two other sides of the square, are 
the court theatre and the old castle; the first a modern 
building, and the other a well-preserved monument of the 
feudal times. The tout ensemble forms a picture never 
to be forgotten,—a mixture of the old and new, of the 
sombre and bright. 

Into this place, then, the company marches. Pres¬ 
ently the band leaves the detachment of soldiers, who 
repair to the back of the palace, and there wait until it 
has finished playing; it then takes its stand in a little 
round music-house. For the marches which have been 
played hitherto, selections from favorite operas are now 
substituted, and such music as the most classical of 
classical professors of music cannot object to, for Stutt¬ 
gart is extremely particular about its music. 

While the band plays, groups, sauntering along the 
walks, converse in subdued voices, or listen silently to 
the music. Here, two lovers, unmindful alike of music 
and surroundings; there, a knot of dandies, scanning 
everybody with a critical stare; while ever and anon the 
eye falls upon the bright uniform of an officer, happily 
set off by the less gaudy attire of the civilian. Also many 
students from the University can be seen, who number 
thefr duels by the scars on their faces, followed usually 
by a favorite dog: sometimes it is a fierce bull-dog, some¬ 
times an impudent Spitz Hund. Grave professors and 
captivating officers vie with each other in attention to 
the fair. Everybody is made happy by the music, which 
has almost become one of the necessaries of life in Ger¬ 
many. 


60 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

The band plays perhaps an hour, then the detach¬ 
ment of soldiers marches up again; the band joins it and 
they are off, followed by the same crowd of martial 
spirits, which is mostly represented by youths, who one 
day will all have to become soldiers themselves. The older 
and less enthusiastic remain for a while in the square 
to discuss the music, but, soon warned by the clock of the 
Stifts Kirche that it is time for dinner, they gradually 
disperse to their several homes. 

After two years at the Latin Gymnasium I was sent 
to a boarding school at Kornthal, a little village near 
Stuttgart, the seat of an unorthodox evangelical religious 
community which had been given certain special privi¬ 
leges by a former King of Wurttemberg. It was a small 
place, inhabited by peasants who were engaged in tilling 
their fields and minding their own business. The com¬ 
munity maintained a boys* and a girls' school, which were 
largely attended by children from foreign countries. In 
the boys' school there were no German boys at all, as far 
as I can remember at this writing, but a number of 
English and American boys and quite a delegation of 
Hungarian Protestants. My impression is, that many of 
these boys were the sons of missionaries. Only two 
aspects of the religious teaching of this community remain 
in my mind; first, that sickness was due to sin and so 
that right living would keep people well; and secondly 
there was a strong opposition to military service. From 
the latter fact it would seem that the religious system of 
the Kornthal community had something in common with 
that of the Quakers, although I have no further evidence 
to support this term than my boyish impression. 

At Kornthal I had my first introduction to the games 
of football, and hockey from my English school mates, 
and to a semblance of baseball from the American boys. 
The school maintained a playground about a mile from 


SCHOOL DAYS IN EUROPE 61 

the village with a pond for skating; here we also had 
training in jumping and exercising on the parallel and 
horizontal bars. At Kornthal I formed a lasting friend¬ 
ship with an English boy by the name of Pengelley, who 
later went to Asia Minor, where a brother of his was 
already established as the agent of the Scotch firm of 
Me Andrews and Forbes, dealers in licorice. Pengelley 
was our best football player. In running he had a grace¬ 
ful deer like action which was both beautiful and ef¬ 
fective. As we were not allowed to tackle below the belt 
in those days he was difficult to stop, not only by reason 
of his swiftness, but also because just as you were ready 
to catch him he would give a peculiar bound which 
carried him free. He was always good natured in his 
play. The American boys started playing baseball a 
little and the English joined in, but persisted in calling 
the game rounders. I also formed a friendship with 
another English boy named Bond. We corresponded 
for a while after leaving Kornthal, but I later lost track 
of Bond, whereas I continued to write to Pengelley 
and I visited him in Asia Minor about ten years after. 
Others of my special friends were Fred and Horace 
Scudder of New York and John Hinchman of Brooklyn. 

The school took daily walks along the country roads 
and forest paths when we were not at the playgrounds. 
On these occasions Fred Scudder and I played Indian, 
pretending to carry out scenes from Cooper’s Red Stock¬ 
ing Tales, waylaying the other boys and making sudden 
disappearances behind the trees. During the warm 
weather we were allowed on occasions to go as a body to 
Kannstadt for the bathing in the Neckar. The distance 
must have been quite five miles or more by the road, so 
if the day was very hot, the school provided rough farm 
wagons with loose boards on which we sat and were 
bumped and jolted the whole distance. After our swim, 


62 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

we would gather at a typical German beer garden in the 
afternoon for refreshments. I remember the great hunks 
of rough country bread and a powdered green cheese, 
called Kreidekas. 

The principal of the school was Dr. Pfleiderer, a theo¬ 
logian of some note, a kindly, somewhat pompous man, 
whose association with the boys and their parents of many 
lands had put him in touch with the great world outside 
of Komthal and Germany. He believed in very simple 
fare; one of his common sayings was that it was well 
to get up from table a little hungry. Certain it is that 
Kornthal operated a most wholesame change in my appe¬ 
tite. Up to my entering this school I had been very 
particular about my food, indeed certain articles of food 
seemed to disagree with me to such an extent that after 
trying to persuade me to conquer my unusual aversions 
my parents had considered it the part of wisdom to let 
me work it out in my own way. When I left Kornthal 
I felt I could eat anything. My friend Bond once had 
some special good things sent to him from home and 
invited Pengelley and myself to share them with him. 
We went up to the dormitory to enjoy the feast. There 
was a box of sardines among the lot. Bond opened it 
and we lifted them out by the tails and swallowed them 
hungrily. I used to think I could not eat sardines on 
account of my distaste for the oil. 

A very remarkable man came to Kornthal while I 
was there and married a daughter of Dr. Pfleiderer. He 
was a Frenchman named Paul Vernier. He was very 
short, bald and somewhat corpulent, but his profile was 
singularly handsome and he wore a long silky beard. 
He had served as a Protestant missionary and was very 
much enlightened in regard to world problems. His 
temper at times seemed ungovernable, especially when he 
felt that evil should be rebuked. I remember his chas- 


SCHOOL DAYS IN EUROPE 63 

tizing an English boy, as we would say, within an inch 
of his life. In my later years when I began the study 
of Swiss history, he always reminded me of those fiery 
French Huguenot reformers who took refuge in Switzer¬ 
land. 

Mr. Vernier was exceedingly able as a teacher both 
of French and English. I remember his indignation one 
day when I spelled the word “attack” as “attach” in a 
translation I had made for him. He had invented a 
most ingenious and logical method of teaching French 
grammar with very few rules. I consider him one of the 
most gifted men I have ever known, although we were 
all afraid of him, I had then and retain to this day an 
underlying affection for him, especially as I know what 
it means for a French Protestant to uncover the abuses 
of the traditional church of his native country without 
a scientific understanding of the nothingness of hypno¬ 
tism. 

After leaving Kornthal I never again saw Mr. Ver¬ 
nier. I was once lecturing in Mexico City where I had 
been granted an interview with President Diaz along 
with a party of other Americans and was preparing to 
resume my journey by returning to the United States, 
when I was introduced to a young man by the name of 
Vernier who was there in business. As soon as I heard 
the name my thought sprang back to Kornthal days and 
I said, “The only time I have heard that name was many 
years ago when I was at school in Europe. We had a 
French teacher of that name who was a very remarkable 
man.” The young man looked at me sharply and later 
taking me aside told me that he was the son of Mr. Paul 
Vernier. “Then you are the baby which was born in 
Kornthal while I was there as a boy. I remember seeing 
you carried about in your nurse's arms.” 

The Corning family moved to Stuttgart at about the 


64 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

same time as we did, and joined us in an apartment house 
at No. 1 Sennefelder Strasse, where they occupied the 
floor above us, while we took as usual the bel etage. Fred 
Corning studied the violin with great enthusiasm at this 
time, becoming very proficient, with a brilliant touch, 
while Len played the flute equally well. The Corning 
boys and John rigged up a small gymnasium in the base¬ 
ment of this house in which they performed prodigies 
on the parallel and horizontal bars. I was admitted oc¬ 
casionally into this place of wonders and allowed to stand 
in awe of Len’s arm muscle which he would draw up at 
such times for my special benefit. The Corning boys also 
conceived the idea at this time of building a boat and 
travelling down the river Neckar as far as it would carry 
them, doubtless having in mind the flat-boating on the 
Ohio and Mississippi rivers at home. John joined in this 
project, but I was not admitted to it; it was for big 
boys only. The whole affair was shrouded in considerable 
mystery, the boat being built by the boys in the base¬ 
ment of a neighboring house; indeed, we might not have 
known anything about it, but for the fact that the boys 
continued to work on this boat one Sunday, and so 
brought the police upon them, for Stuttgart had strict 
Sunday laws. The trouble with the police was so de¬ 
lightful an adventure that the boys could not keep it 
to themselves and so the Corning and McCrackan fam¬ 
ilies had to be told. 

The two families later moved around the comer into 
a newly built house at No. 59 Reimsburg Strasse, the 
Comings taking the apartment above us as usual, and we 
the bel etage. Here we remained until we returned to 
the United States in July of 1878. This house was not 
quite finished when we moved into it. I remember watch¬ 
ing the decorators executing some frescoes on the ceiling 
of the entrance hall, and of the principal rooms. Our 


SCHOOL DAYS IN EUROPE 


65 


large apartment had a circular central hall upon which 
opened the parlor and my father's sitting room furnished 
with rich hangings and upholstered furniture in brown, 
also my mother’s music room with her harp and a grand 
piano, as well as the dining room. My sister’s room was 
furnished in blue and pink, blue for Annie, and pink for 
Mamie, these colors having been adopted by them and 
continuing to be accepted by the family in general as 
particularly suited to each. John and myself slept in a 
regular green room, with heavy green hangings and a 
great green lounge. 

In my father’s room I remember a painting in a gilt 
frame for which I had a special reverence. It repre¬ 
sented the American Flag intertwined with another flag, 
either that of the State of California or of Connecticut. 
At this time in Stuttgart also I remember my father 
instructing me out of a book on American citizenship 
to my great joy, for I was very hungry for every word 
about America and listened with avidity to what he told 
me about his early days in New Haven and about Cali¬ 
fornia in the days of ’49. My love for America was a 
veritable passion. 

In 1873 my mother, John and Annie made a memor¬ 
able trip to the United States. They revisited the scenes 
of former days and my mother’s relatives in New York, 
Hartford, Norwalk and Stamford. In due time they 
returned with wonderful tales and photos of family 
groups and relatives whose very names were unknown 
to me. My father stayed in Europe with us and on one 
occasion in Stuttgart he sent home for some American 
canned goods to show me, who had never been home, 
some of the products of my own country. There were 
some cans of cooked corn and some very tough cooked 
oysters in the consignment, which I did my best to like, 
out of boyish motives, even though I had to hide my real 


66 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

feelings. At one time John, as a growing boy, had been 
ordered to eat corn cake, or Johnnie cake, as we called 
it, which had to be especially made for him, as such a 
thing was unheard of in Stuttgart and I used to take 
nibbles of this corn cake to make myself feel that I was 
a real American. 

In Stuttgart John attended the Real Gymnasium, while 
I attended the Latin Gymnasium. He had a decided taste 
for mechanical contrivances and the Real Gymnasium 
provided technical education. He carried a large drawing 
portfolio with rulers to and fro from school while at 
home he dabbled in chemical experiments. His room was 
full of glass retorts, bottles and strange smells, but there 
was a special gas burner which we children used for a 
very simple and pleasant purpose which was not chemical 
at all. We would go to the corner grocery, kept by a 
certain Strohmayer and invest some pennies in cooking 
chocolate. With the aid of this gas burner we soon 
had several cups of chocolate ready to which we would 
invite our playmates. 

At this time we children learned to walk on stilts 
and soon had Nellie Corning doing the same. For a time 
we almost lived on our high poles, for we could walk up 
and down stairs on them, out into the yard or into the 
hall of our apartment; and it was only with difficulty 
that we could be separated from our stilts when we went 
to our meals or went to bed. 

There was quite an American colony in Stuttgart in 
those days. Most of the young people were perfecting 
themselves in the schools, while their elders were taking 
advantage of the excellent concerts and theatrical and 
operatic performances. We became very friendly with 
the Hinchmans from Brooklyn. Mr. Hinchman was a 
retired wholesale cloth merchant; Mrs. Hinchman was 
a particularly sweet motherly woman with a talent for 


SCHOOL DAYS IN EUROPE 67 

painting flowers which interested me immensely. She was 
a deeply religious woman in a conventional way, and 
loved to speak to me about the Bible and the church life 
in Brooklyn, the city of churches. There were two 
daughters, and three sons. Fred the youngest, was quite 
a baby still, a dear little fellow whom we all loved. Ralph 
was older than myself and I did not see as much of him 
as of John who was about my own age and my particular 
friend. John had already chosen his profession,—he was 
going to be an architect, so he attended the Art Institute 
in Stuttgart. He already had quite a talent for drawing; 
I remember leaning by the hour over a table watching 
him draw one object after another as it came to his 
mind. He went to Kornthal for a year and also visited 
Interlaken with me at my special request; although John 
Hinchman was not as fond of outdoor sports and moun¬ 
tain climbing as I was, he was nevertheless of a joyous, 
active temperament and told me a great deal about my 
beloved America, for which I was profoundly grateful. 
Upon our return to the United States I saw much of 
him in Brooklyn, where he undertook to show me the 
ropes in my own country, for we were much in each 
others’ homes. 

At No. 59 Reinsburg Strasse, John and Annie fell 
ill of an ailment which was ascribed to the fact that the 
the house was not yet dry when we moved in. Their 
condition so greatly alarmed my parents that Mrs. Simp- 
kin was sent for from Switzerland to come and nurse 
them; for among her virtues was her reliance upon com¬ 
mon sense. She immediately took charge of the sick 
ones, and as soon as they could be moved, bundled them 
off to Interlaken to be with the aunts, where they 
naturally enough recovered completely in short order. 

The English Pension of Mrs. Simpkin was for me at 
that time the most attractive place on earth. When away 


G8 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

from it I dreamed myself there, facing the superb snow 
mountains, roaming through the fields, climbing up the 
forests to summer pastures. I can remember lying in 
my bed in the dormitory at Kornthal and longing for 
those mountains with a desire as deep as though they 
had been human beings. In Interlaken it was my custom 
to make myself a whip such as the peasant boys carry in 
Switzerland and to stand around the cows in the fields 
beside the swiftly flowing river Aar, pretending that I 
was herding them, and perfectly happy at this play. My 
aunts were very fond of taking us on beautiful walks 
throughout the neighborhood; Aunt Mary especially was 
an enthusiastic collector of flowers and of ferns. 

Mrs. Simpkin was a past master in organizing all 
manner of excursions into the neighboring mountains. 
To the great amusement and surprise of the countryside 
she drove her own horses, and they were always of the 
best. At a moment's notice she was ready to take us all 
on a day's expedition and whoever was ready among the 
guests in the Pension was bundled into the carriage. In 
this way we were constantly driving off to Lauterbrunnen, 
to climb up to Murren and to the Schilthom; to Grindel- 
wald for the big and little Scheidegg; to Gsteig for the 
Schienige Platte and the Faulhorn; to Brienz for the 
Briinig Pass; or to Kandersteg for the Gemmi Pass. We 
frequently drove to Thun along the road on the southern 
shore of the lake, the northern road at that time not 
having been built. The Beatenberg with Amnisbuhl and 
the Gemmenalphorn at the back were also great favorites. 

On one occasion father took us on a grand expedition 
to the top of the Niesen to spend the night in the hut 
at the top and see the sunrise. On descending we saw 
the effect of a sea of clouds below us, stretching as far 
as the eye could see with the peaks of the giants for 
islands. On another occasion my father took two of 


SCHOOL DAYS IN EUROPE 


69 


us on a never-to-be-forgotten round trip to the Rhone 
Glacier, down to Visp, up to St. Nicholas and Zermatt 
and to the Riffel Alps. Here we spent a night or two. 
From the Riffel Alps we made a little excursion down, up 
the Monte Rosa glacier to our intense delight, for it 
proved to be our first experience of walking upon a 
glacier, although we had already visited the two at 
Grindelwald and entered the artificial grotto there. 

The next morning at the Riffel Alp my father and 
Mamie with the guides started for the Gornergrat. I 
had found a boy in the hotel to play with and decided to 
remain behind; but, when some hours later the boy 
was called off by his parents, I found myself suddenly 
alone in the mountains. A feeling of great desolation 
seized me and I decided to follow the others to the top. 
I started post haste and never halted for two hours, until 
I rejoined them on the summit. On the way I en¬ 
countered some flocks of mountain sheep which gather 
around me, thinking, perhaps, that I was a shepherd come 
to give them a little salt, or to take them down into the 
valley, but I did not stop to stroke them for ever since 
my adventure with the ram at Bex, I had the mental 
picture of being butted, and I was glad to hurry away 
and leave them behind. 

We children were several times allowed to make the 
trip from Stuttgart to Interlaken without any grown 
members of the family. There was no way of doing 
this in one day; we could break the journey either at 
Dachsen near Shaffhausen or at Zurich, and we tried 
both places coming and going. I remember our staying 
in' a beautiful terraced hotel in full view of the famous 
falls of the Rhine and hearing the great rush of waters 
as I lay in bed falling into a delicious slumber. In 
Zurich we generally passed the night in a typical small 
Swiss hotel, the Schweizerhof, on the Limmat quay. Out 


70 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

of our windows we could see the silent, swift, dark green 
flood of the river passing just below and opposite the 
quaint houses of old Zurich rising straight from the 
water’s edge. An occasional primitive dugout, used like 
a canoe or rowboat, still to be seen in those days pro¬ 
pelled across the rapid stream or skirting the houses. 

These child journeys through Zurich are fixed in my 
memory by the delicious Swiss breakfast with honey, 
creamy fresh butter and crisp rolls. There was always 
a changing of trains at Bern. Sometimes Mrs. Simpkin 
or the aunts would meet us there and we would all sit 
down to a hearty dinner before going on to Thun and 
Interlaken. Just as in after years I frequently stopped 
at the little old Schweizerhof in Zurich for childhood 
memory’s sake, so I again and again arranged to eat 
at that wonderful station restaurant in Bern. I was 
sure that breaded veal cutlets were nowhere so succu¬ 
lent or the roastbeef of the continent of Europe as good 
anywhere else. Sometimes Mrs. Simpkin would drive 
to Thun to meet us there where she had shopping to do, 
or horses and cattle to inspect or farm implements to 
buy. Then we would step proudly from the train leaving 
all the other passengers behind who were merely tourists 
in Switzerland and did not have a home there, like our¬ 
selves, with aunties living there and a carriage to drive us 
along the lake. But generally we transferred ourselves 
and baggage at Scherzlingen, the lake port of Thun, to 
the steamer with its Swiss flag floating at the stern and 
its musical bell ringing in the bow to warn everybody that 
it was ready to start on that exquisite, fairy-like journey 
from shore to shore until it landed us where Mrs. Simp¬ 
kin and the aunts were sure to be waiting for us with 
the carriage. 

My brother John was sent for a while to the private 
school maintained by the Rev. Derwent Coleridge at Han- 


SCHOOL DAYS IN EUROPE 71 

well, Middlesex, near London. Dr. Coleridge was the 
nephew of the poet, Samuel Coleridge. Alexander 
Mackay-Smith, our cousin on my father’s side, and later 
Episcopal Bishop of Pennsylvania, was there at the time, 
and Lewis Gillett and Eugene Colgate of New York, 
also Augustus M. Swift, author of “Cupid M.D.,” a little 
novelette which had considerable vogue years ago. The 
latter became a master at St. Paul’s School, Concord, 
New Hampshire, and taught me English composition. 
Alexander Mackay-Smith was bright and jovial, with 
light hair and ruddy complexion. He once passed through 
Interlaken and stopped off long enough to call on my aunts 
and join them in an excursion which Mrs. Simpkin or¬ 
ganized to the Amnisbuhl. For years after my aunts 
used to speak with delight of the brilliant young cousin 
who was the sunshine of the party and kept them all 
in gales of laughter. It was upon the advice of Alex¬ 
ander Mackay-Smith that my father sent me to St. 
Paul’s School, Concord, New Hampshire, on our return 
to the United States in 1878. There was some question 
of John going to Oxford after his two years of prepa¬ 
ration at Derwent Coleridge’s School, but he finally de¬ 
cided that he would go to Trinity College, Hartford, 
Connecticut, and then study for the Episcopal ministry 
in the United States. 

I quote from a letter of Mrs. Coleridge to my mother 
written from the Hanwell Rectory on February 1st, 1877: 
“My dear Mrs. McCrackan: 

“John has laid your kind letter before us, and after 
considering the subject of it carefully, Mr. Coleridge has 
decided to accept young Eugene Colgate for a pupil, if 
his mother feels it well to place him under our care. 
Lewis Gillett leaves us early in July which makes a 
vacancy at that time, and we regret to think that your 
son may leave to go to America in June or July—his 


72 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

father seeming desirous to have him enter college this 
year. Mr. Coleridge regrets this, as he thinks another 
year of preparation would be most desirable —to say 
nothing of our sorrow to lose one for whom we entertain 
so much affection and respect. It would be very nice for 
your young friend to be here with John—who will I am 
sure put him into our ways—& his own way, which is 
a good one. If, therefore, the end of this month would 
be a suitable time for his coming we shall be ready to 
receive him. . . . 

“John has no doubt described to you the place we 
live in, our society and the kind of work which goes 
on. . Our house is a home in no way resembling 

ordinary tutor’s houses. I mention this as you have 
never seen how your son is placed. . 

“We have a sincere regard for John—few young men 
could give us so much content. He will, I think & trust, 
become a most valuable Christian man. He was desirous 
that I should write to you upon this subject, after he 
knew that the Rector would take your young friend. 

“Mr. Coleridge joins me in our kind regards and 
thanks and I remain, dear Mrs. McCrackan 
“Yours very sincerely, 

(Signed) “Mary Coleridge.” 


CHAPTER V 


Going Home to America 

Atter one of my visits to my aunts in Interlaken, I 
had a remarkable experience which I treasure as one of 
the most joyous of my life. I cannot recall the exact 
year, but it must have been in some summer between 
1875 and 1878, when I was between the ages of eleven 
and fourteen. I made this visit to my aunts alone; it 
might have been on my last visit before we returned 
to the United States, because they seemed very much 
impressed, especially my aunt Lottie, with the desire to 
give me spiritual help on my journey. Before I left 
them we had knelt down and prayed, our leave taking 
was particularly touching. The experience to which I 
refer occurred while I was on the little steamer going 
to Thun. As I was standing on deck looking about me 
at the beautiful and well loved scenery, I suddenly felt 
a state of absolute perfection, I felt that I was perfect 
and all nature was perfect. The impression was one of 
surpassing bliss, joy and finality. I looked around me 
and the impression did not fade, I felt that all I saw 
was perfect, the universe was perfect. I can recall watch¬ 
ing my fellow passengers joyously. This spiritual ex¬ 
perience continued for some time before it was blotted 
out. Beauty was a strong quality in my thought; all 
fear, doubt, inability, beginning and end seemed excluded. 
How long I remained in this condition I do not know, 
for it faded away after a while, yet I can recall that a 
great peace abode with me for days as an after taste 
of heaven. This experience eventually passed out of my 
thought until many years after the recollection of this 
spiritual vision returned when I lectured on “The Ex¬ 
planation of the Ideal Man.” At that time I recalled 
73 


74 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

my boyhood days when I received this holy vision of 
man's real perfection. 

At length in the summer of 1878 the great day of the 
family’s return to the United States drew near. My 
aunts decided to remain in Europe, for they felt that 
most of their friends at home had passed away during 
their long residence abroad; moreover they had become 
accustomed to European living, and they were able to 
continue their numerous charities on both sides of the 
ocean without difficulty. So they stayed abroad while 
remaining as unmistakably American as the moment 
they landed in Europe, and wearing the fashions which 
they had brought with them from the United States. 
This they continued to do to the end of their earthly 
days. 

For several weeks there had been great preparation 
going on among us in Stuttgart for the transatlantic 
trip which was to mean the home going of the family. 
Great packing cases stood in all the rooms at 59 Reins- 
burg Strasse, marked “S.S. Oder, Bremen Line.” We 
took with us practically all our furniture and paintings 
as well as personal effects. My mother’s harp stood 
boxed and ready to be shipped. My father had for 
some years made quite a collection of fine paintings 
which were as dear to us children as personal friends:— 
there was a snow and skating scene from Holland, a 
Dutch lady receiving guests at a tea party, mountain 
views from Tyrol, a Venetian scene, a moonlight view 
of Heligoland, and bits of peasant life from Swabia. 
These all disappeared into their cases, and the walls 
of the apartment stood bare and forbidding. John had 
gone on ahead, as he was to enter Trinity College that 
fall and was preparing for his examinations in Hartford, 
Connecticut. Therefore the family party as it entered 
upon its migration homeward consisted of my father 


GOING HOME TO AMERICA 75 

and mother, my two sisters and myself. We were to 
take the midnight train for Paris and spent our last hours 
at the home of the Schmids, saying goodbye to friends, 
and exchanging little parting gifts as souvenirs. 

In Paris the exhibition of 1878 was going on, given 
as a sign to the whole world of the marvelous recon¬ 
struction of France after the Franco-Prussian war. We 
stayed at a Pension on the rue Boissy d’Anglas, and 
every day visited the exhibition or made sight seeing 
trips in Paris itself and its environs. In the exhibition I 
lingered longest around the American section taking a 
vivid interest in it as representing my home country. 
There was a small detachment of marines on duty there 
and I felt proud to say a few words to one of them as 
he stood on guard, although from his accent I suspected 
that he was not much of an American, but perhaps a 
Swede or a German by birth. Even the long rows of 
American canned goods in monotonous array called forth 
my admiration as having come from my home land. We 
visited the hand and head of Bartholdi’s Statue of Lib¬ 
erty, which later appeared in New York Harbor, climb¬ 
ing up into the head. 

My father took us one day to the cemetery of Pere 
la Chaise and showed us the burying place there of his 
uncle, John McCrackan, who like the rest of us was 
a great traveler and died in Paris on June 12, 1833. 
Another day we drove out to Versailles to see the gardens 
and fountains. I recall the cathedral of Notre Dame, 
the Palais des Invalides and the Seine bridges. The 
palace of the Tuilleries was still partly in ruins, the 
devastated wing standing open to the sky, but otherwise 
Paris was swept and garnished, and had resumed her 
place among the great capitals of the world. 

From Paris we crossed the British channel to spend 
a few days in London, for we were to join our ship, the 


76 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

Oder, at Southampton. We had a miserable tragi-comic 
crossing from Dieppe in France to New Haven in Eng¬ 
land,—it was at night. People lay about the deck in all 
sorts of attitudes of sea sickness and helplessness. This 
terrible night was not a favorable introduction to Eng¬ 
land, but once in London we were taken to see the usual 
sights in and out of the great metropolis, but the one 
which made the most impression upon us was an Amer¬ 
ican minstrel show. Everything about it was to us ex¬ 
cruciatingly funny or else deeply pathetic. When the 
ban joist in chief raised his foot clad in an enormous 
shoe and turned it from side to side admiringly, we chil¬ 
dren on the front seat could barely contain ourselves 
with joy. When this same wonderful artist took off his 
ragged hat which had no crown, we held our sides, and 
when he finally sang a song of which every verse ended 
with the remark—“that’s all,” we nearly rolled off our 
seats and vigorously applauded for more. A song about 
a “green grave” sung by the whole minstrel show in 
chorus, while a pathetic tenor took the verses, sobered us 
terribly reducing us to the verge of tears. This Amer¬ 
ican minstrel show was the climax of our London visit. 
The majestic mounted horse guards, the fashions in Hyde 
Park and the riding in Rotten Row aroused but a feeble 
interest in me compared with this genuine American 
product. We stayed at a private hotel in Cork Street 
where everything was so profoundly quiet and exclusive 
that a pall fell upon us. 

A pleasant evening was spent at Maskelyne and 
Cook’s Hall where elaborate conjurers’ tricks were per¬ 
formed; an automaton played a winning game of chess 
with a chosen expert and absolutely unbelievable guesses 
were made by people with their eyes blindfolded. Still 
my thought went back to the American Minstrel Show. 
Later on board ship we went over every part of it which 


GOING HOME TO AMERICA 


77 

we could remember, the expression, “that’s all” remaining 
a family by-word long after. 

I was fourteen years of age at this time, and had 
little comprehension of the sacred tie which binds America 
to England or I might have taken advantage of this, my 
first visit to London, to become better acquainted with 
English life and character. As a matter of fact, London 
left me rather cold, it appeared distant, and I did not 
feel at home in it. One very peculiar impression must 
be registered. In England I heard English spoken for 
the first time by the poor, the shabby and the unfortunate. 
Heretofore all such people in my travels on the continent 
had spoken a foreign language of one kind or another, 
but here on the streets of London were people speaking 
English who were evidently not of the leisure class and 
some were even in rags. This was a great surprise to me. 
I was not prepared for it, but it was a necessary introduc¬ 
tion to what I was to see later in the United States, where 
I found that rich and poor alike spoke English. 

The Oder was a good ship for those days, but its 
three thousand tons seem ridiculously small today. The 
voyage was both slow and rough, about a fortnight being 
taken to New York. I had my first actual view of the 
sea on this occasion, for the crossing from Dieppe to 
New Haven had been at night. My feelings were mixed. 
As I overcame the first impressions of confusion and sea 
sickness, I learned to enjoy the life on deck. The small 
ship tossed about and the spray flew over her bows, but 
we all regained our appetites and entered into the frolics 
of the ship. Annie who had made two transatlantic trips 
before, and was now on her third, regained her feet sooner 
than the rest of us children. My mother was much in 
her cabin, but my father who had sailed around Cape 
Horn in 1849 and had since made many ocean voyages, 
was perfectly at home on board ship. 


78 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

The day of our landing in New York finally dawned. 
I peered eagerly over the ship’s side for the first sight 
of my beloved home-land. The distant fringes of Long 
Island merged into a nearer view of Sandy Hook, the 
Atlantic Highlands and the Jersey shore. Then came 
Staten Island on one side, Coney Island on the other. 
We entered the Narrows, the inner harbor lay before us 
and there at the end, the City of New York. The spire 
of Trinity church was the most conspicuous object in 
those days, since there were no sky-scrapers as yet, nor 
any Statue of Liberty in the harbor, as the unjointed parts 
were still in Paris where we had seen them at the exhi¬ 
bition. A warm summer haze lay over land and sea. 
I was to have my first experience of a hot American 
summer. 

We landed amid the swelter and confusion of the 
unswept streets of New York in 1878, before the days 
of the White Wings. I have only a dim, confused recol¬ 
lection of the custom-house, the hack drivers storming 
upon us, the presence of negroes, the look of pallid refine¬ 
ment on people’s faces, and the sinking at the heart when 
I contrasted all this with the passionate dream of adora¬ 
tion with which I had looked forward to this come coming. 

This first impression was, however, soon corrected 
by the joy of meeting real live fellow Americans on 
their native soil and entering into the strange new life of 
summer by the salt water. My father had made arrange¬ 
ments for us to stay at Perth Amboy, New Jersey, at 
the spacious home of some friends whom we had known 
in Europe, Mrs. Courtland Parker and her daughters, 
until we could move into a house which was being pre¬ 
pared for us in Brooklyn. The old house of the Parkers 
in Perth Amboy was called popularly “The Castle.” 
John joined us here and from him I received my first 
lessons in sailing a boat. 


GOING HOME TO AMERICA 79 

The Perth Amboy of those days had no manufactur¬ 
ing water front. Sail boats and canal boats were an¬ 
chored or drawn up on the beach to be calked and re¬ 
paired. There was much fishing in Raritan Bay and 
crabbing in the nearby creeks. With the daughters of 
Mrs. Parker and their friends we were constantly off that 
first summer on bathing and sailing parties or moonlight 
expeditions, and so were quickly and thoroughly intro¬ 
duced into the free life of young people in America. My 
suddenly acquired love for the seashore temporarily 
pushed into the background my former yearning for the 
mountains. But I did not forget the Alps, only I allowed 
them to fade into a happy past. As a matter of fact 
I did not return to Europe until I had graduated from 
College. 

In September, 1878, I entered St. Paul’s School, Con¬ 
cord, New Hampshire, and an entirely new chapter in 
my life began. Everything seemed strange and new. I 
arrived at school by an evening train from New York, 
and was guided to Doctor Henry A. Coit’s study by one 
of the older boys. I found myself facing a tall, slim 
elderly man, who wore a beard and had the upper lip 
shaved as was still customary for men of his age in 
the United States. His manner impressed me as very 
mild and suave. I could hardly believe that this gentle 
pliable appearing man was the principal of a large school. 
With much sweetness of manner he turned me over to 
a big boy with instructions to take me to the Miller’s Cot¬ 
tage where my dormitory home was to be. Coming up 
on the train with a number of the boys I had already 
seen a great difference between them and the school boys 
I had known abroad. They indulged in considerable good 
natured horse play and teasing without arousing resent¬ 
ment or actually fighting among themselves. It seemed 
to me then that this good nature was a sign of weakness, 


80 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

just as Dr. Coit’s peculiarly suave manner made a strange 
impression upon me. I was yet to find out the power 
which so mild an exterior could conceal. 

St. Paul’s school was founded upon the ideal of an 
English public school like Rugby, so that athletics were 
an important part of our life. The special school game 
in those days was cricket; football was just coming into 
vogue in 1878. The whole school would turn out and 
kick a black rubber ball between the goals until the ball 
somehow went over the horizontal bar between the goal 
posts. Later a committee of boys among whom William 
D. Chandler, son of Senator Chandler of New Hamp¬ 
shire, was the prime mover, sent to England for a real 
pig-skin ball and procured the Rugby rules which were 
adapted to what was considered our special school con¬ 
ditions. At first there were fifteen on a side; canvas 
jackets were worn which were so slippery that we won¬ 
dered how any runner could ever get stopped, especially 
as tackling below the waist was strictly forbidden in 
those days. 

I entered heartily into the school sports; in cricket I 
did not score well enough to make my mark, but I could 
defend my wicket fairly well and did some acceptable 
bowling. I managed to get on the second eleven of the 
Old Hundred Club, but never reached the first. In 
football I did better, my playing with the English boys 
at Kornthal had given me a start and some knowledge 
of the game which was so new in America. When tennis 
was introduced into the school, I was one of the first 
to take it up. Several of us formed a club and wore 
little round caps striped in yellow and black. The first 
rackets we procured were very peculiar; they were not 
straight like the present ones, but curved and much more 
like small lacrosse sticks, presenting the appearance of 
lopsidedness. A great deal was made of the cut and 


GOING HOME TO AMERICA 81 

very little of speed in playing. I was very fond of skat¬ 
ing* of playing hockey and coasting, of which we had a 
great deal during the long New Hampshire winters. 

In my first year our athletic instructor, Mr. Lester 
C. Dole, taught me Indian club swinging in the gym¬ 
nasium and I won the first prize at the December gym¬ 
nasium meeting of my first year. This prize consisted 
of a pair of Indian clubs made of inlaid woods provided 
with a little silver plate on which later was engraved my 
name with the date of the gymnasium meeting. When 
amid the generous applause of the whole school I strode 
forward to receive my prize that night, my excitement 
reached the point of bursting. Indeed the whole inci¬ 
dent seemed too good to be true, no prize in future years 
gave me more genuine glee. 

During my school days I was a good deal in the gym¬ 
nasium on winter afternoons, enjoying the parallel and 
horizontal bars, the swinging rings, vaulting, etc. In 
track athletics I did a little jumping and running with¬ 
out distinguishing myself particularly. I took some les¬ 
sons in boxing from Mr. Dole and was taught the rudi¬ 
ments of fencing by a boy named Naylor who had lived 
in Geneva, Switzerland, and there had been taught by 
French masters. 

My principal interest in sports developed when I took 
to rowing. I belonged to the Shattuck Rowing Club, 
whose club color was blue; the Halcyon Rowing Club, 
the rival club, had red for its color. The whole school 
was divided between these two clubs, just as it was divided 
between the two cricket clubs of the Old Hundred to 
which I belonged and the Isthmian. In those days each 
rowing club put three crews into the water besides some 
single skulls. Only four-oared crews were permitted; the 
first crews rowed in shells without cockswains, the second 
and third crews in light working boats with cockswains. 


82 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

Mr. Dole trained us during the winter in the gymnasium 
where regular rowing machines were installed and then 
took us out on the water of Long Pond. At the right 
time the crews went to the training tables; oatmeal water 
only was permitted as a beverage at the pond, and as 
this is not very palatable to the average boy, our drink¬ 
ing fluid was kept down by this. 

I rowed during three of the four years of my stay at 
St. Paul’s school as a boy. During my second year I 
rowed bow in the second crew boat of the Shattuck Club 
and we won a very strongly contested race. Of this 
race I recall my suppressed excitement before the start; 
the powerful sweep of the first mile; the successful 
turning of the buoy; the tremendous grind of the second 
mile; the waist without breath, the arm without feeling; 
and then the unbelievable good news that we had won. 

This surprise was almost as great as the one which 
followed my winning of the prize Indian clubs. The next 
two years I rowed on first crew Shattuck, but we were 
defeated both times. The last of these two years I 
very reluctantly took my seat in the boat, as I felt I 
could not really give the time to the necessary training 
and practice on account of my studies. To show how 
strong these boyish recollections are let me relate that 
in the winter of 1917, while near the Back Bay station 
in Boston, I passed a man talking to a youth by his side 
and as the man’s voice reached me I turned back and 
exclaimed, “Why, Mr. Dole!” The reply was instan¬ 
taneous, “Billy Mac, is that you, why you haven’t changed 
one bit!” I had some pleasant moments while he was 
waiting for a train, talking over old times and recalling 
Harry A. Garfield, Franklin Remington, John Jacob 
Astor and others of my day. Mr. Dole carried his years 
very well and told me of his continued athletic activities. 
He served for forty years as the athletic guide and mentor 


GOING HOME TO AMERICA 83 

of several generations of St. Paul's boys, much beloved 
as one who always maintained the highest traditions of 
good sport and fair play. In December, 1918, he passed 
away greatly regretted. 

In due time I wrote for the school newspaper, the 
Horae Scholasticae, and eventually became one of the 
editors. 

The first article I ever had the felicity of seeing in 
print was the one already referred to and was entitled 
“When the Band plays in Stuttgart;" then came “A 
German Gymnasium." At this time also I ventured to 
make some slight translations from Schiller’s play of 
William Tell and wrote some original verses. The poet 
Longfellow having died while I was at St. Paul’s School, 
I ventured to write a sonnet in his honor for the Horae 
Scholasticae, which I insert here, as it appeared in the 
issue of April 10, 1882. 

LONGFELLOW 

O bard, whose homely strains forever kind, 

Whose muse so sweet, inspired from above, 

We all have learned to know and love,— 

For thou dost touch the heart more than the mind. 
Farewell! A sorrowing nation thou hast left 
To weep, and deeply mourn of thee bereft. 

In heaven now shall I sound thy genial lay, 

For thou hast softly, calmly, passed away. 

But what if we have thee thyself no more? 

Thy works, thy thoughts,—oh! it can never be 
That they shall die. Nay, but from shore to shore 
Reechoing, they shall sound o’er land and sea; 
Forever fresh, they’ll live forever more. 

As far as scholarship was concerned my Latin prepa¬ 
ration in Germany was so thorough that it continued 


84 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

with me throughout my school days at St. Paul’s. When 
I was given the opening passage of Caesar’s Commen¬ 
taries to read as a test to show into what form I fitted, 
I read the sentences right off in English without hesita¬ 
tion, although I had never seen them before. This was 
perhaps all the more remarkable because I had never to 
my knowledge ever translated Latin directly into Eng¬ 
lish, therefore at this little preliminary examination I 
found that I was obliged to translate from the Latin into 
German first of all, before I could give it in English. 
This round-about process did not last long as I gained 
further practice in the school room, but in the case of 
arithmetic (never my strong point) it was some time 
before I could do my sums straightaway. 

My first composition gave me a much needed lesson. 
The teacher, Mr. Augustus M. Swift, had selected certain 
compositions to be read in class and from them he in¬ 
structed us as to the rudimentary needs of good com¬ 
position. Mine dealt characteristically with the Swiss 
glaciers. I had put my heart into this composition, but 
when it was read in class I was appalled at the inter¬ 
minable sentences in which my thought was expressed. 
The teacher had selected it as a terrible example of an 
involved style to be read, as a warning to the whole class. 
My training of putting the verb at the end of the sentence 
had produced this result, but I took my lesson and, bitter 
as it was, profited by the experience. 

Many pages might be written about St. Paul’s School 
as an influence in American life, but I have no such pur¬ 
pose in these Recollections. In later years I published 
an illustrated article on the school in the New England 
Magazine for June, 1897, in which I attempted to do 
justice to my subject and express my gratitude for the 
happy days spent there. 

I was also elected a member of the School Missionary 


GOING HOME TO AMERICA 


85 

Society which held its meetings in the Library of the 
School Building. At these meetings reports of our ac¬ 
tivities in forwarding missionary work were read as well 
as articles from periodicals which bore upon that subject. 
On one occasion when I was delegated to read one of 
these articles I confused the word “diary” with “dairy” 
and created amusement among the boy members who were 
only too glad for anything to relieve the solemnity of 
these occasions. 

Of the religious life at St. Paul's School I can only 
say that Dr. Coit’s ideal was that of the High Church of 
the Episcopal denomination and this was carried out as 
strictly as school conditions would allow. I was con¬ 
firmed by Bishop Niles of New Hampshire in accordance 
with the rite of that church, just as years before I had 
been baptized by my cousin, Rev. Cornelius B. Smith. 
Like all growing boys who seriously face the teaching of 
the churches in which they are educated, I had my re¬ 
ligious struggles, doubts, rebellions and recoveries; but 
steadily, as I grew towards my college days, I found less 
and less solace in the teaching and practice of the religion 
to which all the members of my family belonged, of which 
my brother John was to become a minister and to which 
all about me in this much loved school adhered. Already 
at this time the first faint beginnings of a protest against 
scholastic theology and especially against ritualism were 
taking root in my thought. 

This inner protest made it impossible for me to fulfill 
the particular hopes which Dr. Coit felt for my future as 
I prepared to leave school. I had become mentally rebel¬ 
lious. He called me into his study one day towards the 
last and spoke of his disappointment. The school reports 
sent to my father were no longer as good as they had 
been and in some particulars were highly unsatisfactory. 
I stood dumb before my critic, for I could not explain. 


86 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

I only knew that there was a chasm of some sort between 
the Doctor’s point of view and mine. 

It is significant that shortly after I left school (in 
June, 1882) Mrs. Mary Baker Eddy became a neighbor 
of Dr. Coit at Pleasant View, Concord, New Hampshire. 
The two who represented opposites in religious experi¬ 
ence, dwelt close together until one winter’s day, some 
years after, the alumni of St. Paul’s School were suddenly 
notified of Dr. Coit’s death. I was glad to be a sub¬ 
scriber to the monument which was erected to Dr. Coit 
in the large school chapel. Together with my brother- 
in-law, Lawson Purdy, I also contributed to place one 
of the choir stalls in the school chapel, his name and 
mine being engraved together upon a brass plate on this 
choir stall. 

This reference to Lawson Purdy leads me to speak of 
my special school friends and chums. Purdy was in 
the form just above me and a trifle older and so I was not 
thrown with him as intimately in our studies as I was in 
our sports. We were both members of the Shattuck 
Rowing Club and saw a great deal of each other at Long 
Pond, where he also rowed in a winning crew, namely 
the third crew Shattuck. Purdy was always trying some 
difficult feat in climbing and balancing. For example, 
there was a wooden railing along the bridge over the 
sluice-way by the Miller’s Cottage and Purdy used to 
delight in walking along this narrow railing where a false 
step would have plunged him into the water or upon 
the hard boards of the sluice-way. At Long Pond he 
used to delight to throw into the water the bright tin 
basins we used for washing after our hard practice rows 
and then dive for them. I did not participate in the 
feat, as at that time I had not yet learned to keep my 
eyes open under water. He was a boy who talked 


GOING HOME TO AMERICA 87 

little, but like my brother John, was always doing some¬ 
thing or preparing some exploit. 

Later, when we were at Trinity College together I 
can recall seeing him climbing up and down those awe 
inspiring college buildings, up to the roof and down again 
by the cornices, window-frames and rain pipes. Purdy’s 
example later in life exerted a serious influence upon me 
in interesting me in Henry George’s book “Progress and 
Poverty,” and in the Single Tax theory to which that 
book gave rise. Purdy’s marriage to my younger sister 
brought him close to me and we shared radical views on 
social, political and economic questions. 

My first great friendship among the boys of my own 
form at St. Paul’s School was with Harry Augustus Gar¬ 
field, eldest son of President James A. Garfield. Both 
Harry and Jim Garfield were in the same form with my¬ 
self, but my friendship was particularly with Harry. 
In the fall term of 1880, before the great day of the 
Presidential election, Harry and I used to talk over the 
possibility of his father’s election to the Presidential 
office; but, like boys we were not very much impressed 
with distant events. Shortly after the announcement of 
Garfield’s election Harry and I took a walk together, as 
we frequently did, and I remember as we passed through 
a pasture not far from the school, where stood some great 
chestnut trees, that he said: “It feels funny to think 
that my father is President of the United States.” This 
is all that I can remember his saying on the subject. 

On one of our winter walks together we were caught 
in a severe snow storm and turned into a farm house 
for shelter. Here the good people set before us for our 
refreshment milk and such a collection of different kinds 
of pies as I had never seen in my life before, outside 
of a bakery. 

I missed Harry Garfield very much when he and 


88 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

Jim left for the White House. At the time of the good 
President's assassination a number of us St. Paul’s boys 
were taking our preliminary examinations at Harvard. 
We stayed at the Revere House, one of Boston’s best 
hotels in those days. As I was passing through the hotel 
lobby on July 2nd, 1881, a telegraph operator told me that 
the news of the President’s assassination had just come 
to him over the wire. At the time of President Garfield’s 
death, I was deputed to write to Harry and Jim, in the 
name of our school class and received a reply signed by 
them both which I treasure as a sign of those stirring 
times and herewith append. 

“Mentor, Ohio, 

Oct. 1st, 1881. 

“My dear McCrackan: 

“The copy of our Form resolutions is received. 
Through you we wish to express the gratitude we feel 
for this kindness and appreciation of our very great loss. 

“Very truly yours, 

(Signed) “Harry A. Garfield 
“James R. Garfield.” 

Harry returned to St. Paul’s School as a master, as 
I did later, for a year, but our returns were at different 
times, so that we did not meet again there. His distin¬ 
guished career as college President has been well earned 
through his native qualities of righteous power and en¬ 
durance. We had our photographs taken together by 
Kimball of Concord, New Hampshire, the school photog¬ 
rapher, in the usual way, he sitting and I standing. 

A short friendship with a boy named Shober of 
Philadelphia was established in a thoroughly boyish 
fashion. Shober was an excellent bowler in cricket and 
a good all-round athlete, but he was a great tease. We 
had been out together one day skating and playing hockey 
on the school pond and he had been particularly annoying 


GOING HOME TO AMERICA 89 

in his teasing when, as we reached the Middle School 
building on our return, where we were to stow away our 
skates and hockey sticks in the lockers in the basement, 
Shober twisted my arm again in the exasperating way 
that boys have of testing each other out. This time was 
one too many for me; dropping my skates I seized him, 
wrestled with him and knocked him down. He slid down 
into the gutter with his nose on the frozen ground and 
presently began to bleed profusely from the fact that the 
skin had been badly rubbed off. Horror stricken I led 
him into the basement, washed him off and from that 
moment on we became the fastest of friends, remaining 
so until he left the school to enter West Point, I believe. 

One day there appeared at school to enter our form 
a handsome slim little fellow with well chiseled features 
who played cricket with a masterly stroke and became at 
once a general favorite. This was Franklin Remington, 
younger son of the great gun maker. He had just been 
to school in England and had brought with him these 
careful strokes with the cricket bat. We used to like to 
see this little fellow on the first eleven, stand up before 
the fierce bowling of the bigger boys and coolly turn 
off the attacks against his wicket. In our fifth form year 
Frank Remington and I roomed together at the Upper 
School, but our chumming together was not for long, 
because in some way or other our room began to be the 
center of boyish frolics which disturbed altogether too 
much the proper quiet of that staid building and so in 
course of time we were separated, as I shall explain 
presently. 

The only tennis court of the school was just outside 
our windows, also the big field in which we played foot¬ 
ball. Between studies we used to kick drop kicks in that 
field and also put the shot there. Remington grew 
rapidly, soon out-stripping me in height to my great cha- 


90 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

grin. He kept some traps down the stream which we 
used to visit between study hours at noon or just before 
supper. As the time was short and the distance relatively 
great, we had to fall into a dog-trot to reach the traps 
and return in time. He caught many musk-rats and was 
threatened with many a skunk, but this last affliction we 
escaped. I remember seeing a mink and smelling skunks 
along the stream. 

We also had some sails made to use in skating, which 
were difficult to handle successfully, as every one knows 
who has tried the experiment. There was, however, one 
grand occasion when on a bitterly cold and windy winter's 
day we sailed wildly about Big Turkey Pond, feeling that 
we had discovered a new and wonderful mode of loco¬ 
motion. We had another skating experience together 
when I was at Trinity College and Remington at Har¬ 
vard ; he made me a visit in Hartford during the Christ¬ 
mas holidays. The skating was unusually good that 
winter on the Connecticut River; it was frozen over for 
many miles so that Remington and I could skate down 
the river from Hartford to Middletown over all kinds 
of ice, some rough, some broken, and some perfect new 
black ice. I paid Remington a visit in the winter holidays 
of 1884 in New York when his family lived in a large 
house on 57th Street, nearly opposite where Carnegie 
Hall now stands. 

But, as I said, our rooming together did not last long. 
Remington was put into a room by himself at the new 
Middle School, while John Jacob Astor, who was a few 
years younger than myself, was put into my room in 
Remington’s place. I used to visit Remington in his new 
room for I missed him woefully and my friendship for 
him was very deep. In after years we saw little of each 
other, although while I was First Reader of The Mother 
Church of Christian Science in Boston, he once came to 


GOING HOME TO AMERICA 91 

see me, and I showed him over the new extension to the 
original edifice which had just been completed. 

When John Jacob Astor arrived at school he was a 
gawky overgrown boy at the unattractive stage when 
the voice was broken. An elderly tutor, with great gold 
spectacles, accompanied him for awhile and made him 
periodical visits. In many ways boys have but scanty 
compassion and they did not spare the new boy who 
seemed so ill at ease. When he was placed in the room 
with me one of his first requests was, that I should not 
call him Jack Astor, which was quite general among the 
boys. And this I readily promised, thereafter invariably 
calling him John. This was a help to him; moreover 
as his senior I felt more or less obligated to protect him. 
In return he gave me genuine affection and obedience. 
Before coming to school he had tutored in German and 
from this he evolved a sort of German diminutive pet 
name for me by turning the name Mac. by which I was 
universally known at school into Mochels. 

One day I found he had tacked a cartoon from Puck 
to our door and immediately demanded that it be re¬ 
moved. To this request he set up an unusual resistance 
and an unusual argument. I said it was a cheap tawdry 
thing, and I would not have it hanging on our room. 
John asserted that it was not cheap, because the colored 
plate from which it had been made was expensive and 
probably cost as high as a hundred dollars. I replied 
that the cost of the plate had nothing to do with it as a 
picture, it was not a work of art, and I did not intend 
to have it on the door. John then argued that the cost 
had everything to do with pictures, for his father had a 
large collection of them at home for which he had paid 
big prices, but many of which would bring even greater 
prices than when he bought them. This sort of reasoning 
was new to me. 


92 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

He furthermore had been instructed to be very careful 
not to allow his signature to lie about, which I could 
understand more readily in the case of a millionaire, so 
he invariably tore up all pieces of paper which contained 
his written name. I once dined at his home in New York, 
meeting his mother and sisters. It was the house which 
stood on the southwest corner of Fifth Avenue and 34th 
Street, where the hotel Waldorf-Astoria now stands. On 
the opposite corner at that time stood the marble mansion 
of Stewart, the great drygoods merchant. 

John Jacob Astor’s great need was for someone to take 
an affectionate interest in his good qualities. The world 
was interested in him only as the heir of a great fortune. 
Whatever he brought out of good in his life was ac¬ 
complished against great odds and deserves special recog¬ 
nition. During the Spanish-American War he performed 
honorable service, and through his courageous death at 
the time of the sinking of the Titanic while his young wife 
was saved he gave a note-worthy example. The sinking 
of the Titanic, the largest passenger ship afloat at the 
time of her destruction, was a premonitory symptom of 
that great contest for the control of the sea which was 
already at that time being waged mentally by the German 
against the British Empire. It was then still disguised 
as a mental conflict, but in 1914 it assumed a physical 
aspect as well, and led to the sinking of the Lusitania 
which was also the largest passenger ship afloat and in 
service at the time. From this point of view John Jacob 
Astor has a place in the opening phase of the great 
world war. 

While I was one of the editors of the Horae Scholas- 
ticae, Astor one day brought me an article he had written 
entitled “A.D. 2000,” which immediately attracted my 
attention. It had what might be called scientific imagina¬ 
tion, picturing conditions of life, as he supposed they 


GOING HOME TO AMERICA 93 

would be in A.D. 2000, when many startling inventions 
would have become ordinary daily mechanical contriv¬ 
ances. I published the article in the school paper in 
whose files it can be found if I am not mistaken. I also 
have a recollection that Dr. Colt questioned me about it 
and that I assured him that it was Astor’s own work 
and not my own, as some supposed; also that the school 
at large was much interested in the article and specu¬ 
lated a great deal about it, because Astor had never shown 
any ability to write. In later years John Jacob Astor 
expanded this article into a book and published it, sending 
me a copy while I forwarded him one of my own books 
on Switzerland. Hidden in this article was the boy’s 
real talent, a sort of a vision of mechanical possibilities 
based on astronomical science. As it was, the promise 
of the boy was partly fulfilled in the man, for John Jacob 
Astor was known for his readiness to make use of the 
latest appliances. Astor went to Harvard after leaving 
St. Paul’s School, and I never met him again to talk 
with him, except one day on the train en route from 
New York to some place up the State, when we just had 
time for a cordial hand clasp greeting. 

I stayed at St. Paul’s School through the sixth form 
which corresponds in a general way to the Freshman Class 
in the smaller colleges. From a school list dated Sep¬ 
tember 1881 I note among the other names in my sixth 
form Joseph Coit, Jr., son of the Rector, William H. 
Foster who remained in the school and is now Vice 
Rector, Augustus P. Gardner who eventually became Con¬ 
gressman from Massachusetts and performed glorious 
service with his father-in-law, Senator Lodge, and our 
great American Theodore Roosevelt, in awakening the 
dormant American people out of neutrality, to prepare 
for their inevitable entry into the great world war. Gardi¬ 
ner was a chubby, red-haired boy, full of enthusiasm and 


94 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

power. I thank him from the bottom of my heart for his 
self sacrifice in helping to save America from failure 
to do its duty at the crucial hour. Remington is also 
on this list and Howard A. Taylor, the smallest and 
possibly the smartest of our form, for he quickly forged 
ahead in Harvard and in the practice of the law. In¬ 
cidentally, he played a great game of tennis with his left 
hand in the intercollegate matches. 

Many other names on the school list in the fall of 
1881 have their places in the life of the United States. 
It is difficult to make a just selection from among them, 
but I venture the following names at random: Crowin- 
shield, Parish, Whitehead, Dyer, Perkins, Tibbits, Dab¬ 
ney, Hurd, McKean, Onativia, Bayard, Brathwaite, San¬ 
ford, Satterlee, Scudder, Stevens, Treadwell, Goodwin, 
Hunnewell, J. P. Morgan, Jr., Wilmerding, Elton, Ander¬ 
son, Bonsai, Brune, Dana, Gordon, Sands, Zerega, Riggs, 
Saltus (a distant cousin of mine), Naylor, Furness, 
Bohlen, Rhinelander, and the two Stevens boys from Ho¬ 
boken, New Jersey, popularly known as “Big and Little 
Stick.” 

To the St. Paul's School of my day Owen Wister, 
perhaps best known as the author of “The Virginian,” 
used to make frequent visits, for he accompanied the 
Vice-Rector, Dr. Joseph Coit, the rector's brother, on 
western hunting trips, where doubtless he acquired the 
literary material which has given joy to so many. His 
maiden literary effort like mine was in the Horae Scholas- 
ticae. 

It would not be fair to my standing in scholarship 
at St. Paul's School to imply that my time was wholly 
given to games or to reading and writing outside the 
class, for I have among my papers a report sent to my 
father for the month ending December 18th, 1880, in 
which I figure as being second in a class of thirty-five 


GOING HOME TO AMERICA 95 

and on which appears in Dr. Henry A. Coit’s unmis¬ 
takable hand, the words, “A thoroughly satisfactory re¬ 
port in all respects. My love to William and best wishes 
for his New Year. H. A. C ” 


CHAPTER VI 

College Days 

After leaving St. Paul’s School in June, 1882,1 passed 
my preliminary examinations in Harvard, unfortunately 
with one condition, namely in arithmetic, though I had 
no doubt of making this up, especially as I was given 
credit on Prescribed Classics and Prescribed and Elective 
Latin. At Harvard I would have found myself with 
Remington and other boy friends of St. Paul’s School, 
but that summer my brother John talked the matter over 
with my parents and they counselled that I should go 
to Trinity College instead, following John who had just 
graduated in the class of 1882. This was a great disap¬ 
pointment to me. All through my college course there 
were times when I did not feel quite reconciled to the 
change imposed upon me and the separation from so 
many of my special school friends, although Purdy was 
already at Trinity in the class above me. 

In looking back upon the counsel given me at this 
time I now feel it was in part due to the family tradi¬ 
tion in church matters, but also to the desire that we 
should all live together in Hartford, Connecticut, where 
Trinity College was situated. To add to my discom¬ 
fiture Trinity College during the years of my attendance 
was at perhaps the lowest ebb in its fortunes. The classes 
grew very small and one misfortune after another seemed 
to delay the recovery of the college, which took place after 
my time there, under the inspiriting efforts of President 
Luther. My religious questionings also troubled me 
greatly; they finally brought me to the point at which 
I decided not to take the communion any longer according 
to the rites of the Episcopal church. This pained my 
brother and dear ones, but I could not do otherwise as 
my sense of spiritual honesty would not permit me to 
96 


COLLEGE DAYS 


97 


go through a ceremony which I could not accept. 

It was then that I had a religious experience which 
was in some respects a fit successor to that other experi¬ 
ence on the Lake of Thun, when the perception of man’s 
real perfection came to my consciousness. On this occa¬ 
sion the comforting assurance came to me, God will not 
punish you for not doing zvhat yon do not understand . 
The load was lifted, the self condemnation was gone and 
I felt comforted and assured. 

In the winter of 1884 my father met with an accident 
in New York which after a short illness led to his death 
on January 10th. He was walking down the slight in¬ 
cline close to the Park Avenue Hotel between 33rd and 
34th Streets when he slipped on the ice and fell, fracturing 
his thigh bone. A passing boy with a sled brought him 
to the hotel door. At first his illness was not considered 
dangerous; when I visited him he talked interestingly 
to me of his love for Shakespeare and even recited parts 
of the plays. I smoked his cigars and took back with 
me a well browned meerchaum cigar-holder which he 
gave me. When I returned to take my place once more 
in college I had no thought that his illness would prove 
fatal, but one morning early John wired me that the 
end had come and I immediately joined him in New York. 

The interment was in the McCrackan burying plot in 
New Haven where his father and grandfather had been 
buried before him. I remember the comfort which 
Edward B. L. Carter of Stamford, Connecticut, my sister 
Annie’s husband, was to us all during those sad days. 
Edward Carter later became trustee for my mother’s 
property which had been put in trust for her by her 
father, Henry J. Sanford of New York. 

My father had the polished manners of a man of 
the world of the period of which I write. As a rule I 
stood in awe of him, but there were many times when a 


98 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

great love for my father would surge over me. I recol¬ 
lect especially the day when he took me to New Haven 
and showed me some of the familiar sights and sites of 
his native city. We dined at the ancient Tontine Hotel 
facing the green where the old fashioned darky waiters 
were still in order at that time; they marched into the 
dining-room with a captain at their head, balancing their 
trays artfully and permitting themselves just a little 
shuffle to express their good humor without transcending 
good manners. We walked on Chapel and Orange 
Streets, my father pointing out where grandfather had 
his place of business and where the old McCrackan home 
stood. 

As a boy I had little interest in these matters and can¬ 
not now recall the sites my father pointed out sufficiently 
to identify them. I remember with much greater clear¬ 
ness that he told me that he and other boys used to skate 
on the salt meadows just outside of New Haven. He 
attended Cheshire Academy for a while and studied law, 
probably at Yale College, but he went out to California 
when he was only twenty-three, which made him a man 
of the big world very young and early took him far from 
his home. On this visit he pointed out the Episcopal 
church on the green where his father and his grandfather 
had held the position of treasurer for fifty-six years 
consecutively. We ended our visit to New Haven by an 
inspection of the family monument in the cemetery, on 
which are the names of the McCrackans since the first one 
came over to America from Glenluce in Scotland before 
the American revolution. 

Until my father’s estate could be settled I experienced 
for the first time in my life a shortage of funds. My 
mother could not at once fill the lack of the ample allow¬ 
ance which my father had always given me. The sad 
event of losing my father turned my thoughts once more 


COLLEGE DAYS 


99 

strongly to religion; I prayed and pondered and wished 
to give my life to the service of others. By a strange 
reversal the traditional family influence re-exerted itself 
and in a moment of what I accepted as complete self 
surrender, I decided to study for the ministry. I was 
tired of debating and resisting and felt that I would 
find peace in final obedience and renunciation to the mys¬ 
tical unknown of ecclesiastical belief. It was decided 
that I was to take Sunday services in some small place and 
so begin my work. I did so, journeying on Saturday 
afternoon to a place called Connellsville, Connecticut, 
where there was no regular clergyman of the Episcopal 
church, returning Sunday nights to Hartford, and what 
was most astonishing to me, receiving for my services, the 
first money I had ever earned. 

I entered Trinity College as a Sophomore, my Sixth 
Form year at St. PauPs School being taken as equivalent 
to the Freshman year, and at once took possession of 
my brother’s former room, No. 18 Seabury Hall. I joined 
the same Greek Letter Society, the Beta Beta Chapter of 
Psi U. Many of the young men in Trinity College at 
that time, were preparing for the Episcopal ministry, 
among others my chum Frederick D. Lobdell a pleasant 
kindly youth with pink cheeks and curly hair. Among 
other college friends I recall especially Johnnie Carter 
of Baltimore, who later went to our legation in London, 
John R. Cunningham of Terre Haute, Indiana, Samuel 
H. Giesey of Norwich, Connecticut, Sidney T. Miller of 
Detroit, and Samuel S. Mitchell of Stamford, Connecti¬ 
cut. We played considerable tennis, the intercollegiate 
matches having been started about this time. In my 
Junior year I won first place in our class tennis games 
and Lobdell second place. 

I instituted the first gymnasium meeting held at Trin¬ 
ity College, offering a McCrackan cup to the best all- 


100 


AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 


round performer in these indoor athletics. This cup I 
kept up for some years after I left college, but eventually 
allowed it to lapse. I sang tenor in the College Glee Club 
and in the college chapel choir, but took little part in the 
society functions of the college life which centered prin¬ 
cipally in the dances, the regular Germans, to which 
the young ladies of the city with their chaperons were 
invited. 

For a while I lived with my mother and sisters at 772 
Asylum Avenue, in a double house of which the other 
half was occupied by Doctor Burton, the noted preacher 
of Hartford, and friend of Mark Twain. The great 
humorist with Charles Dudley Warner, Mrs. Harriet 
Beecher Stowe, Dr. Twitchell and Dr. Burton formed a 
sort of a literary colopy in the Hartford of those days. 

Dr. Burton’s son Dick was in the class of 1883, a 
sprightly interesting young man just beginning to show 
the promise which has made him since one of the best 
known and best liked lecturers and literary lights of the 
country. Dick and I used to walk to college together 
from our homes nearly every morning during his senior 
year. 

I saw Mark Twain only once in my college days, as 
far as I can recall; that was at the house of my mother’s 
cousin, Mrs. Samuel Colt on Wethersfield Avenue. Mrs. 
Colt, the widow of the gun and pistol manufacturer and 
her mother, Mrs. Jarvis, lived in a great house with a 
large park in which were ponds and an enclosure 
for deer. Close by was the Episcopal church of the Good 
Shepherd, endowed and largely maintained by Mrs. Colt 
herself. Mrs. Colt and her sister, Mrs. Hettie Jarvis of 
Newport, Rhode Island, were great beauties, the former 
with black hair and lustrous eyes, the latter blond and 
laughing. When I used to call at the house on Wethers¬ 
field Avenue it always seemed to me as though I was being 


COLLEGE DAYS 


101 

ushered into a magnificent palace of the old world. Mrs. 
Colt’s stately and affectionate hospitality, and her superb 
smile made me feel at ease amid all these treasures gath¬ 
ered from all parts of the world by good taste and great 
wealth. Mrs. Colt’s only son, Caldwell Colt, was rarely 
at home, living almost continually on his yacht, the 
Gracie. Close to Mrs. Colt on the opposite side of 
Wethersfield Avenue, lived my other cousins, Mrs. 
Fitzgerald with her son and three daughters. Other 
Jarvis relatives lived close by. 

In looking back upon my mental condition during a 
good part of my college days I recognize that it was too 
serious and introspective. I attribute this largely to the 
mistaken religious pressure brought to bear upon me. In 
society I was constrained and retiring. My studies inter¬ 
ested me very little, but I kept up my interest in world 
problems which habit had always been characteristic of 
my thought, for I must needs know what was going on 
in all quarters of the globe. Planning, hoping and in¬ 
curring disappointments with great regularity, I literally 
suffered with the nations of the world, as I kept track 
of their misfortunes and apprehensions in the news of 
the day. As was perhaps natural, my interest in German 
affairs continued and I seemed to perceive instinctively 
the brewing of world policies in that Empire before they 
became apparent in the thought of the day. Thus the 
title of my address in the college oratorical contest which 
I won was “Bismarck,” and on leaving college my first 
article printed in the Hartford Post, an evening news¬ 
paper, dealt with German projects for expansion of 
power. 

Some of my happiest times in college were connected 
with fraternity life; the college Glee Club also furnished 
many happy gatherings and some concert trips to neigh¬ 
boring cities. Dick Burton had a very sweet tenor of 


102 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

which we were immensely proud in the college, and Breck 
Trowbridge, now the well known New York architect, 
used to thrill us when he sang down deeper and ever 
deeper to some phenomenal bass note. Those were days 
when there was a great deal of part singing all over 
the country, the negro minstrel troupes (which were then 
no longer entirely negro) were legion; there were great 
numbers of choral and oratorical societies; besides the 
invariable College Glee Clubs there were many operettas 
given by amateurs. On the whole there was a great deal 
of music over the whole country. 

As an editor of the Trinity Tablet I continued to 
exercise my pen as I had begun to do on the Horae Scho- 
lasticae at St. Paul's School, showing more promise in my 
writing than in any other branch of work. A few simple 
gestures, taught me by one of my fellow students, Frank 
F. Russell, of Woodstock, Connecticut, also helped me 
greatly in my oratorical efforts, so that I won two 
prizes, one which was called the Prize Version, this con¬ 
sisted of a translation from the classics which was in the 
form of an oration to be declaimed; the other was an 
oratorical contest pure and simple, each contestant choos¬ 
ing his own subject. 

Class Day found me class poet. My poem was a sort 
of a resume of the history of the College in verse which 
was well received. For my graduating oration I selected 
the somewhat pretentious subject of “Organism vs. 
Aggregation,” seeking to show that the result of the 
union of various elements was something new, not merely 
an aggregation but an organism. Hiram B. Loomis of 
Hartford was Valedictorian of the class, graduating with 
honors in all departments, receiving the title of Optimus, 
Robert Thorne, of Brooklyn, New York, running him a 
close second. Mrs. Colt who was present wrote to her 
sister Mrs. Hattie Jarvis of Newport that she was certain 


COLLEGE DAYS 


103 

of a promising future for me. More important to me, 
however, than the kind appreciation of friends were two 
gifts of my mother to me at this time, a watch and a 
ring. The watch had the date 1885 engraved on one 
side and my monogram on the other. This watch I 
carried regularly for thirty-two years. The ring was a 
seal-ring containing the head Mercury cut intaglio, having 
in the right lower corner the serpent staff which Mercury 
carried. As Mercury stands for the messenger of the 
gods and was therefore a great traveler, I have always 
felt that my mother's choice of the ring was particularly 
suitable and prophetic of my career. 

It was towards the end of my college course that my 
mother wrote a short poem which she inscribed— 

To Will—after a Classical Oration. 

What I dug up in 1863. 

Mamma. 

This poem she wrote after hearing me deliver my 
Prize Version Oration on a classical subject just referred 
to, which recalled to her a remarkable experience when 
she was in Rome in 1863, a few months previous to my 
birth. The following is the entry in her journal which 
refers to this event: “Drove out into the country through 
th£ Porta del Popolo and visited the excavations of the 
Villa of Livia, the mother of Tiberius and Drusus Ger- 
manicus. Her first husband was Tiberius Claudius Nero. 
Augustus was her second husband. The statue of Augus¬ 
tus, lately excavated, was lying on boards raised in a 
wooden building. It was simply perfect. The arabesque 
figures on the armor still showed crimson and blue color¬ 
ings (now in 1884 it is in the Vatican). The resemblance 
to the bust of young Augustus is most striking. The 
subject of the bas-relief on the breast is “Aurora going 
before the chariot of the Sun.” The folds of the tunic 
are gracefully wrought in the richest drapery! It is one 


104 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

of the most beautiful (and to my taste the most beauti¬ 
ful) statue, I have ever seen. As I stood over it, with my 
own far-away thoughts, it seemed as if he spoke to me, 
in the words of wisdom and pathos, warning me wist¬ 
fully of his own end of greatness, of the subtle disap¬ 
pointments of life with it all. And yet he seemed to say, 
'live on, take up your work and fashion it as best you 
may, there will be some compensation. Never fear/— 
and there, in the presence of his departed shades, I was 
strengthened, I do not know how or why, but I can never 
forget that scene, I can never forget my own impulse of 
strength forged out of the sculptured reverie. Will who 
resembles so strongly (in expression) that face, always 
brings to my mind that shadowy converse of mine with 
the Past.” 

“I lingered and lingered in this spirit of great mem¬ 
ories, but we finally descended a hill to Villa of Livia 
where the statue was found.” 

“Went down into a subterranean chamber which was 
most exquisitely framed to resemble an arbor, full of 
birds and flowers. The colors were as bright as if painted 
yesterday, it seemed as if we could pick off the flowers, 
and write a poem of sweetness and daintiness, just then 
and there.” 

My mother’s poem inspired by this experience follows: 

To His Royal Highness 
My Caesar Augustus (Will) 

What you say is true 
Of the family few, 

Let me beg anew, 

More of the same Cue— 

From your classical oration, 

Let me date an excavation. 


COLLEGE DAYS 


105 


Over ancient Rome's unearthed nation 
I stood once, in contemplation. 

The site of this, my reverie, 

Has left its haunting memory. 

In the year eighteen sixty three 
It happened on a dark Tuesd^e. 

(26th April, 1863) 

The diggings damp had brought to light 
On Villa Livia’s then buried site,— 

Augustus, Rome’s Great Caesar and might 
Emperor, Warrior and Knight. 

(Livia was wife of Augustus CaesaO 
Sculptured in past glory’s array, 

Marbled in carvings, he lay— 

Frescoed in blue, red and grey— 

Statued,—did these colors still portray. 

Gilt tracings on the breast plate, 

And Bas-reliefs of regal state, 

Historied, grand scenes to mate, 

The Savant’s certificate. 

Methought it seemed to say, 

“You think I have had my day. 

No, I have come back to stay 
I’ll no more of the “Appian Way.” 

(entombed) 

“In the Vatican is my home, 

To kith and kin of stone, I’ll roam 
No more in marble rest alone 
No more of this, I’ll have, no none.” 

And yet, in grim shadowy thought, 

I stood there, in deep lessons taught, 

Of Life’s Past—Greatness, brought to naught. 

Shadowy, fleeting Power, 

Spiriting away its Hour, 


106 


AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 


To leave behind its Fame,— 

And yet, what is its name? 

The stone's appeal 
To me so real, 

My thoughts did steal 
Strong in vision's zeal. 

These phantoms of wondrous kind, 

Imaged then, the wistful mind, 

To hold, and mean the truth to find 
E’en taking years to unwind. 

To my Caesar of the Present 

May Life's Lessons be most pleasant,— 

To my hero, Young Augustus 
Will Truth be most illustrious. 

April 1st, 1884 
772 Asylum Ave. 


CHAPTER VII 

A Visit to Europe 

Shortly after graduating from Trinity College, in the 
summer of 1885, my mother, my younger sister, her hus¬ 
band, Lawson Purdy, and I made a trip to Europe. We 
sailed on a Red Star steamer for Antwerp and thence 
made quite a sight-seeing tour on the continent. My 
sister Annie and her husband Edward B. L. Carter were 
settled in Stamford, Connecticut. My mother returned 
tc the United States at the end of the summer to be 
married to Mr. Melvin B. Copeland, President of the First 
National Bank of Middletown, Connecticut, a fatherly 
friend of my brother John, leaving our party of three to 
continue the trip in Europe. We went to Interlaken where 
some startling changes had taken place during the seven 
years of my absence. I found that the English Pension 
on the road to Unterseen had been vacated and a large 
chalet taken by Mrs. Simpkin and named Pension St. 
Beatus, which lay in the comer of Lake Thun where the 
then new carriage road first debouched upon the lake. 
The situation was charming. Westward the expanse of 
the lake stretched from the bottom of the garden and 
the fields to the great pyramid of the Niesen, some ten 
miles away at the other end, while on either hand rose 
the ranges of the Abendberg and the Beatenberg. My 
dear aunts were overjoyed to see us and Mrs. Simpkin, 
Nellie and Florrie, now grown to be young women, did 
everything possible to make our stay delightful. 

It was in September of that year that I made my 
first venture in climbing a snow mountain, the Balmhorn, 
which rises from the Gemmi Pass. Strolling on the 
promenade of Interlaken one day, I ran across a Trinity 
College graduate of my brother’s class of 1882, Ernest 
F. Henderson, who later acquired a well earned reputa- 
107 


108 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

tion for his scholarly works on German history. I pro¬ 
posed some climbing to him, so we walked up the Shienige 
Platte the next morning to try ourselves out, lunched at 
the hotel there, and the same afternoon walked on to 
the Faulhorn. There we spent the night in the primitive 
inn, saw a gorgeous sunrise and then walked down to 
Grindelwald and back to Interlaken. I arrived at Pen¬ 
sion St. Beatus in time for lunch well satisfied with our 
first expedition. 

The excursion to the Balmhorn was interesting but 
not entirely successful in that we did not reach the top. 
I wrote an account of this for the Trinity Tablet which 
I find among my papers and venture to insert here as 
a record of my first snow climb. 

INTERLAKEN, SWITZERLAND, 
October 26th, 1885. 

DEAR TABLET: 

I take the liberty of sending you a few lines because 
of a very odd circumstance. 

It is the accidental meeting, this summer, of two for¬ 
mer editors of THE TABLET, here in Switzerland. 
This is in itself so unusual a thing that I know you will 
pardon me for making it the excuse for a letter, but 
when I say that we did a good deal of climbing together 
and in one case at least enjoyed some real genuine adven¬ 
tures you will feel still less inclined to blame me. The 
particular ascent I wish to tell you of is that of the 
“Balmhorn.” Baedecker describes the Balmhorn as 
12,180 feet, fatiguing but free from danger, guide neces¬ 
sary. This mountain seemed to the ex-editors just the 
one for them—ice and snow work without danger, but 
we learned that day that certain conditions of the snow 
or fog may make the simplest ascent extremely hazardous. 

This Balmhorn is a snow cone connected by ridges 
with the “Altels” the “Rinderhorn,” the whole forming 


A VISIT TO EUROPE 109 

a distinct group situated on the south side of the German 
Pass. It is from this pass that they are ascended, the 
other side presenting nothing but perpendicular walls. 

The evening of the 4th of September found us com¬ 
fortably housed at the little inn of the pass. Next morn¬ 
ing we set out in spite of unsettled weather. The guide 
carried a linen rope, a bag of provisions, and of course 
his ice axe, we were all three provided with high gaiters 
and goggles with little wire screen sides, the glare of the 
sun on the snow often produces inflammation of the eyes 
unless the greatest precaution is taken. It was seven 
o’clock, a bit of blue sky just over our heads seemed to 
wish us good luck, but the weather was evidently very 
unsettled. The snow had crept down the mountains almost 
to the house during the night. The guide expressed him¬ 
self willing to try it at all events, and so we set out. 

Our way lay for more than an hour over loose moraine 
and then we came to the glacier proper. Here we stopped 
to rope ourselves together and to adjust the goggles. We 
were bound some twenty feet apart and had instructions 
to keep the rope taut. The first impression of walking 
on ice the depth of which may be hundreds, even thou¬ 
sands of feet, is a peculiar one, and becomes doubly so 
when the glacier is covered by a deceptive layer of fresh 
snow. Our progress now became rather slower for the 
guide was obliged to probe continually for crevasses 
while we followed carefully in his footsteps. It was 
here that the guide had a very nasty escape. In probing 
about he must have stepped too near the edge of a 
crevasse, for we saw him suddenly sink a little and then 
draw back quickly. On approaching we found a large 
hole. The bottom of which of course we could not see, 
the sides of that indescribable colouring of shading from 
green to blue, which crevasses always exhibit. The guide 
had had one of his legs on the good snow and had thus 


110 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

been able to save himself. By a long detour we managed 
to cross and were soon toiling again through the deep 
snow. The walking became every minute more difficult, 
and the crevasses more dangerous. Some we crossed by 
jumping, others on bridges of snow, at one it was a toss 
up whether the snow would hold. The guide managed to 
scramble across and then dragged us after him while 
we performed a hop, skip and jump. 

We now halted to consider the advisability of going 
on. It had been snowing for some time, the clouds 
whirled past us followed by intensely cold winds, while at 
odd intervals the sun's rays would penetrate the mist 
for a few minutes and shine with burning heat. It was 
a sort of combination which can only be experienced in 
high places. After we had had something to eat and 
drink we decided to go on. The way was now up a steep 
slope to the ridge which connected with the top. It was 
a severe pull, but when we reached the ridge, what a 
region of shining slopes and bleak crags lay before us! 

Through the fog we caught glimpses of the world of 
green valleys and bright sunshine below, and above us 
rose the peaks of the Balmhorn, Altels and the Rinder- 
horn, now standing bright and clear against the sky, now 
hidden by sudden accumulations of clouds. On one side 
of the ridge fell precipitously several thousand feet, to a 
little green valley with a silver stream running through 
it, on the other side it sloped down to the glacier over 
which we had just come. We were, therefore, between 
two dangers, starting an avalanche on the slope or being 
hurled down the precipices by the breaking of the snow 
crusts which overhung them. 

Between these two dangers the guide steered with 
the skill which only great familiarity with these regions 
Can give. It was by far the most dangerous part of our 
trip. We had walked for something like an hour on 


A VISIT TO EUROPE 


111 

this ridge when suddenly a piece of the crusted snow on the 
precipitious side gave way with a peculiar rustling sound, 
leaving us on the very edge. A blinding snow storm accom¬ 
panied by high wind set in, we lost sight of the peak and 
stopped a few minutes for breath. We must have gone 
some hundred yards further when the snow once more 
gave way. Of one accord we stopped and decided to 
return. The guide insisting that he could not undertake 
to find the way if it did not clear. It was hard to turn 
back for we were within a few hundred feet of the top 
and had reached a height of about 12,000 feet. 

The descent was marked by a bad slip of one of the 
editors which took him a little down the snow slope, 
but he soon regained his footing. 

In two places we came upon large stones which had 
fallen across our path, and what was very curious, we 
discovered a bee and later a butterfly, on the snow numbed 
with cold though not lifeless, as they afterwards evinced. 
The guide put them in the ribbon of his hat and let them 
go when we reached warmer regions. We could not 
account for their presence in those places unless the 
winds had swept them up from the valleys. 

At five in the afternoon we were once more in the 
little inn, having been absent ten hours and about seven 
on the snow. A TABLET meeting was immediately held 
in the dining room, at which it is needless to say dear old 
Trinity was not forgotten. 

Pardon me for taking up so much of your valuable 
space. 

Yours truly, 

W. D. McC. 

At Interlaken I was also joined by my college class¬ 
mate, John R. Cunningham of Terre Haute, Indiana, 
with whom I took a most delightful trip, partly by 
carriage and partly on foot, over the route now covered 


112 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

by the Montreux-Oberland railroad. In crossing the Pas 
du Jaman we had the thrilling experience to which Byron 
refers, of suddenly seeing the Lake of Geneva spread 
below us as we reached the top of the Pass. On the 
ascending Oberland side the tourist finds himself toiling 
up a narrow rocky valley just on the fringe of the timber 
line. There is nothing to prepare one for the great 
change which greets the line of the eyes the moment the 
last steps are surmounted and the fertile slopes of Mon- 
treux, Blonay and dear old Vevey lie below. With what 
eager interest I walked down that day into the district so 
familiar to me from my boyhood days! With what tender 
recollections every street corner was turned, the Maison 
Kohly and Maison Gunther were revisited! The great 
square which I remember as fronting the post-office 
turned out to be a mere widening of the street, the majestic 
quay where we used to dodge the spray from the waves 
proved to be a tiny lakeside corridor, a sweet little alley 
on which hotel terraces faced. 

Late in the fall of 1885 our party began the trip into 
Italy. We had lingered and lingered at Interlaken, un¬ 
willing to tear ourselves away from the dear aunts and 
held by the charm of the place. It was November before 
we could break away. And when we did, we hired a 
carriage and drove all day from the Pesion to our hotel 
in Luzerne over the Briinig Pass. The clouds hung low 
upon the mountain flanks with the dreary effect of ap¬ 
proaching winter, yet it all seemed beautiful. From 
Luzerne we took the train over the St. Gothard rail¬ 
road down into Italy,—to make our first visit to the lands 
south of the Alps. 

The first impression of Italy upon a sensitive nature 
cannot fail to be registered and perhaps to mark an epoch. 
Coming from the north there is an instant change in 
color and outline, a classic touch, combined with a shift- 


A VISIT TO EUROPE 


113 

less appearance in men and things and an exasperating 
uncertainty in prices. Great changes, terrible tests have 
come to Italy since 1885 and vast improvements have 
been made in public and private cleanliness, but the pic¬ 
turesque change in crossing the Alps remains. Eagerly 
did I note every beauty, every idiosyncracy. For the first 
time I felt in close touch with the classics I had studied 
at school and college. Here was the setting for them, 
under these trellised vines, beside these white walls of 
careful masonry, amid these bright colors, with these 
men clad in long cloaks and among these ruined houses. 

In Milan we felt we were constantly on some sort of 
a perilous adventure. Every move we made attracted 
the attention of some one who hoped to earn a soldo. To 
transfer our trunks from the station to the Pension we 
had selected for our stay was like transporting forbidden 
goods through an enemy country. We seemed to step 
upon an operatic stage on which every action must be 
preceded either by a long explanatory solo, or by duettes 
or trios. Many smiled and made a grimace but every¬ 
body looked like brigands to our unaccustomed eyes. 

At the Pension in Milan I lived in, a stone dungeon 
with enormous folding doors held together by locks and 
chains which would have sufficed for a State’s prison at 
home. My sister and her husband occupied another stone 
prison, with a lofty ceiling and forbidding walls. There 
were no carpets on the floors, only great flag stones, cold 
and unresponsive. All this was not at all unusual. It 
was merely the Italian conception of comfort in a land 
in which houses are built for hot weather not for the cold. 

My brother-in-law was decidedly the boldest of the 
three. He had provided himself with a map of Milan and 
had procured a short vocabulary from which he had 
laboriously learned the numbers in Italian up to one 
hundred, the days of the week and the months of the 


114 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

year. He was a complete Italian linguist in comparison 
with my sister and myself who relying in a superior way 
on our French had neglected to learn a single word of 
Italian. On the day of our arrival in Milan we ventured 
into a large store where my brother-in-law undertook to 
make a small purchase for my sister. We watched him 
with interest while with elaborate gestures and some of 
his carefully rehearsed numbers he actually bought the 
article. 

Suddenly, however, there was seen to be some sort of 
a hitch in the purchase. The sales-lady had said some¬ 
thing to him which was not in his repertoire. He came 
back to us and we held a consultation. “She says some¬ 
thing like, ‘ecco lay* said Lawson, “What do you sup¬ 
pose she wants ?” We returned to the sales-lady who was 
all smiles and was waving her hands in a deprecatory way, 
while she repeated “ecco la, ecco la .** It even seemed 
to us that she might be hinting at a tip for herself. I 
suggested that perhaps he ought to have bargained for 
the price, as everybody had told us we must do for every¬ 
thing in Italy. We felt chagrined that we could not come 
to terms with the girl, but finally were obliged to leave 
the store shaking our heads sadly, while the sales-lady 
continued to smile. It was not until next day that we 
learned from our landlady that all the poor girl had said 
was “ecco la,” or “there it is,” when she handed the 
parcel to Lawson. This had the effect of lowering his 
linguistic pride for a while, so that we two could obtain 
a breathing spell during which we learned some Italian 
words on our own account. Afterwards I acquired a 
smattering of Italian, principally by reading Italian news¬ 
papers, being helped by my knowledge of Latin and 
French. 

In 1885 Italy was making strides in her national 
awakening. Hope was in the air. She had no suspicion 


A VISIT TO EUROPE 115 

of the new chains which were being forged for her by 
Germany and was only blissfully conscious of a new, 
vigorous sense of unity and progress. It was often said 
by resident Americans and English in those days that 
Italy was not what it used to be, that the old customs 
and, many of its picturesque dilapidations had vanished, 
that the rush and bustle of modern life were crushing out 
the attractive dolce far niente of the past. As for myself 
I was inclined at first to note with great care the contents 
of all the galleries and museums, but as we traveled 
further south, the past did not absorb my attention so 
much, for modern conditions took up more and more 
of my thought. In Milan I saw for the first time the 
interesting regiments of sharp shooters, the Bersaglieri, 
sweep through the streets on the trot, the cocks feathers 
on their slanting hats glistening and waving as theypassed. 
The trumpets had replaced the drums in this corps, if not 
in, the whole of the Italian army; in my memory I can 
still hear some of those stirring marches played upon the 
brass instruments. The Alpine troops, the Alpini, wore a 
single straight feather in the military hat. 

In Milan the cathedral, the Brera gallery, the last 
supper by Leonardo da Vinci, were duly visited, but the 
modern life in the galleria Vittorio Emmanuele was not 
neglected, with its cafes and dainty stores. Perhaps noth¬ 
ing annoyed me so much in the Italy of those days as 
the beggars. In 1885 they were still ubiquitous, although 
great efforts were being made by the secular authorities 
and the police to cope with them, but begging was so 
ingrained in popular custom that it was still a public 
torment for visitors from the foreign lands. The Fores- 
tieri were considered the natural prey of the unfortunate 
or the lazy. 

While Milan was deeply interesting as the first one 
of Italy’s great cities which I visited, the surrounding 


116 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

country of the plain of Lombardy was of course very 
flat with none of that picturesque grouping which makes 
Florence so attractive. It was at this time that I took 
great delight in reading Mr. Howell’s “Venetian Days.” 
This writer greatly influenced my style when I began to 
record what I saw in Italy and afterwards in other lands 
abroad. The charm of his kindliness and of his humor 
literally conquered me. His books of travel helped me to 
approach my subjects in the true American spirit and so 
affected the quality of books which I later wrote on 
Switzerland, Tyrol and the Italian Lakes. A genial 
appreciativeness is requisite in writing of other lands, 
else the task should not be undertaken. I do not mean 
that I transgressed literary etiquette or copied Mr. 
HoweH’s style, but I feel that he opened the door and 
gave me the key to the understanding of that peculiar 
American point of view in regard to the old world which 
keeps the writer above his subject, yet keenly sensitive 
to the good encountered. I spent wonderful days in 
Italy, making the usual round from Milan to Florence, 
Pisa, Siena, Rome and Naples. I liked Florence immedi¬ 
ately and gave it a very warm corner in my heart. Its 
river and the surrounding hills, the superb walks in its 
environments, Fiesole, the recollections of Dante and 
Giotto, and the evidences of the little old Republic of 
medieval times which still lingered about Florence de¬ 
lighted me. I adopted Michael Angelo’s statue of David 
on the terrace above the Arno as a special favorite. The 
youthfulness, suppleness and strength, the fearlessness of 
his pose made me love David, although it was not till many 
years after that my own experiences brought him very 
close to me spiritually and made his life acquire special 
significance. The Ponte Vecchio, the Lungarno, the park 
of the Cascine were all delightful. I read Mrs. Oliphant’s 
books on Italy, Hare’s “Walks in Rome” and in other 


A VISIT TO EUROPE 117 

cities, George Elliott’s “Romola,” Hawthorne’s “The 
Marble Faun.” It was exhilarating to identify streets, 
churches, cities, districts, monuments, etc., by means of 
these charming books. 

It was in Florence that I heard my first great Italian 
tenor in opera. His name, I believe, was Marconi, and 
the opera La Sonambula. My enthusiasm knew no 
bounds. In my love for music I felt myself rising into 
the upper registers along with the tenor and taking with 
perfect ease his high C. For years after I talked of 
Marconi as the one tenor who ought to be heard in 
America. It was not until Jean De Reszke’s supreme 
artistry displaced all competitors for me, as I used to 
hear him in the Metropolitan Opera House in New York, 
that Marconi faded into second place in my musical 
memory. 

The first sight of Rome was disappointing. After the 
compact picturesqueness of Florence, Rome seemed to 
straggle over its low hills, unkempt and in disarray. Its 
innumerable points of interest were scattered over a great 
area and not as effectively grouped as those of Florence, 
but as the days passed the tremendous significance of the 
place began to dawn upon me and draw upon my imagi¬ 
nation ; the whole drama of the militant world empire for 
which it stood unfolded before me. Recent studies in 
school and college had made me very familiar with the 
main lines of Roman history, added to which was my 
natural taste. The Forum, the Colisseum, the baths, the 
temples, the Via Appia, the tombs, the old tufa walls and 
the travertine arches were the visible remains of what 
had come to me through book learning. 

The Rome of the ancient kingdom, of the republic and 
the empire drew me with strong cords of affection; Cicero, 
Tacitus, Julius Caesar and others seemed to become live 
personages amid the actual surroundings of ancient Rome. 


118 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

In my thought the glories of the empire seemed to incor¬ 
porate themselves in Augustus Caesar whose boyish bust 
I admired in the Vatican gallery and whose full armored 
martial statue my mother had seen recumbent in its trench, 
when it was first discovered, excavated and on exhibition 
in the garden of Villa Livia in 1863. It was this Augustus 
Caesar who was reigning when Joseph and Mary went 
to Bethlehem to be taxed when Jesus was born. (Luke 
2, 1-7.) My mind often went back on that first visit 
in Rome to the stories told by my father and mother 
and my aunts of their visit at that early time, just before 
my birth, when visitors would roam about the Roman 
ruins picking up exquisite marbles from the palaces of 
the Caesars, the Forum and other ruined districts as 
souvenirs. I remember certain boxes full of labeled pieces 
of marble and certain variegated marble tables made up 
of many pieces which dated from that time and were 
associated with my earliest recollections in Switzerland. 
It was not until later years when glancing at the journal 
of my grandfather, William McCrackan of New Haven, 
Connecticut, who made his trip to Europe in 1828, that 
I realized that I was the third generation of McCrackans 
to visit Rome from 1828 to 1863 and 1885. 

For ecclesiastical Rome, with its multitude of churches, 
its many colored and robed processions of pupils, its 
shrines and chapels, I had an instinctive aversion, which 
even the many art treasures could not efface. St. Peters 
was impressive for size, but its interior struck me as 
gaudy. I gladly escaped from these oppressive incense¬ 
laden interiors into the bright sunshine and the limpid 
atmosphere of Rome’s out-of-doors. The Pincio was 
my delight, its evergreen ilexes (our own American live 
oaks) spoke of perpetual youth. 

It was very much the fashion among the tourists and 
the artists whose studios we frequented to decry modern 


A VISIT TO EUROPE 


119 

Italy, to complain of its iconoclasm, the tearing down of 
old structures and the building of the great barrack-like 
dwellings which were needed to house the growing popu¬ 
lation of Rome and the multitudes who flocked to it from 
all parts, as the capital of Italy. I did not share in this 
carping criticism, for I entered joyfully into the awaken¬ 
ing of this young-old nation and the triumphs of White 
Rome over Black Rome. On subsequent visits I learned 
more of the underground conflict between these factions. 

We used to see very frequently King Umberto driv¬ 
ing, sometimes alone and sometimes with the gracious 
Queen Margherita and the little prince, now King Eman- 
ual II. The King often took the reins himself, accom¬ 
panied only by a chamberlain. 

In 1885 at one of the shops on the Piazza di Spagna 
I bought my first picture, a little water-color sketch which 
I have kept to this day, two figures, which might pass 
for Romeo and Juliet, walking in an Italian garden. 
There are some white steps and dark ilexes and a cer¬ 
tain pensive quality broods over the whole structure, 
which endears it to me. 

From that first journey in Italy dates a visit to Or- 
vieto perched on its hill in mediaeval isolation. The train 
left us down in the plain below one brilliant moonlight 
night and we drove up the winding road in a carriage, 
after having struck a bargain with a driver, who looked as 
though he needed to be watched. The road brought us 
suddenly to enormous city gates securely closed as though 
they might have been barred against an army of ancient 
spearmen and chariots. The driver jumped from his 
seat and knocked fiercely on the great oaken doors. There 
was a waving of lanterns, a whispered conversation, then 
a vast key such as are generally preserved in museums 
as curiosities turned a great lock. The oaken doors swung 
slowly and majestically on their hinges and the full moon 
cast its rays into Orvieto, revealing narrow cobbled streets 


120 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

leading into a maze of ancient houses. With a tremen¬ 
dous clattering and crackling of the whip we thundered 
into the sleeping town, awakening a multitude of mediae¬ 
val echoes. 

We drove up before a forbidding-looking inn, where 
as warm a welcome awaited us as Orvieto could afford in 
the winter, with its stone walls and stone floors. A fire 
was made in one of the vast spaces which passed for bed 
rooms, and we managed to warm our faces at least, if no 
other parts of our bodies, before going to bed. The 
next day the sun gradually thawed us out, and the won¬ 
derful view of the highly-perched town down the vine- 
clad hills over the fertile plains amply repaid our tem¬ 
porary discomfort. From one of the nondescript stores 
which lined the main street, I bought a fox skin, which 
I kept for years, and insisted upon carrying with me 
wherever I went on my much travelling. 

Naples in 1885 was still largely unimproved. The 
water front of Santa Lucia, made famous by the song 
which has gone around the world, was still in its extreme 
condition of unwholesome dilapidation, where the popu¬ 
lation seemed alternately occupied in eating sea food or 
trailing macaroni down its throat or combing its hair in 
the open. Although the usual sights were visited in 
Naples itself, the city had less attraction for us than the 
outskirts. We had not been in Naples a day before our 
adventures with the cab drivers began. Those who used 
to drive across your path at the street crossings and hold 
you up for a bargain were a veritable pest. To be sure, 
it was possible to drive about the city for next to nothing, 
if you could make the driver understand that you knew 
the tariff and would not be bull-dozed. Beggars were 
legion, so were pseudo-guides who would undertake to 
show all the city’s sight and were ready to accompany 
you even unto Pozzuoli and the islands of the bay. 

The mildness of the winter climate in Naples was a 


A VISIT TO EUROPE 


121 

delight and we took advantage of it to climb Vesuvius. 
Whatever tourists may have to say in disappointment of 
various much heralded sights on the Italian round, Vesu¬ 
vius cannot be called tame. At least in the winter of 
1885 it lacked none of the features which a well con¬ 
ducted volcano should have. The sulphur fumes near 
the crater were stifling, the hot cinders threatening and 
the angry roar terrifying as bits of molten lava were 
hurled from the great mouth into the sky, making the 
ground scorching under our feet. 

Next came a stay on the island of Capri permitting 
of a leisurely visit to the blue grotto and of exquisite 
walks to the different elevations on the island. 

The usual visit to Pompeii was made in regular order 
and greatly enjoyed. I was fresh from school and col¬ 
lege with considerable accumulation of classic lore, a 
natural aptitude for historical studies and a fairly clear 
map of the ancient world in my mind, therefore the ruins 
of Italy meant much to me at the age of twenty-one. 
Pompeii proved to be a visible reconstruction of much 
that had been learned in the classroom, and the idea 
occurred to me then how easy the Latin and Greek 
classics would be made for schools boys and college men 
if they could but see the remains of those civilizations in 
their natural surroundings. The books of the classic 
writers, Virgil, Homer, Caesar, Tacitus, Heroditus would 
all be written for those students in a living instead of 
dead language. The visit to Pompeii was supplemented 
by a careful study of the museum in Naples where the 
principal finds from the ruins are carefully preserved. 
There remains with me as my favorite among all the 
many bronze statuettes thus rescued that of the little 
Narcissus, exquisite in pose and spontaneous merriment 
dancing to his reflection in the water. I procured a small 
plaster cast of this statuette which with the fox-skin 
from Orvieto I carried with me in my travels. 


CHAPTER VIII 

In the Levant 

In Naples I parted from my sister and her husband 
for a while and made arrangements to pay a visit to my 
friend Pengelley who had been at school with me and 
was now stationed near the coast in Asia Minor, in a 
modern Turkish town called Sochia, not far from Smyrna 
and, as I learned afterwards, about halfway between 
Ephesus and Miletus. A passport had to be secured from 
our minister in Rome and visaed by the Turkish consul 
in Naples. Then one fine day I sailed on one of the 
ships of the French Messageries Maritimes for Smyrna 
on a voyage of adventure to enter the fabled East and so 
obtain my first glimpse of semi-civilization. There was 
a stop at Messina with time to go ashore. The quays 
were full of great tubs as large as barrels containing 
crushed oranges, to be exported, as I was told, for the 
making of marmalade in England. The next stop I re¬ 
member was at the Island of Syra, a bleak rock in the 
midst of the surging waves. An oriental flat roofed 
town clung like a bunch of barnacles to a steep slope 
which rose from the harbor. Then the little steamer pro¬ 
ceeded on its voyage and at length was safely moored 
at the long quay of Smyrna on a blustery March day in 
1886. A clerk from the firm with which Pengelley was 
connected, Me Andrews and Forbes, dealers in licorice- 
root, met me and saw me through the custom house. 

My impressions in the interior of Asia Minor, start¬ 
ing from Smyrna and returning to the same port, are 
mostly recorded in my book, “Little Idyls of the Big 
World.” I shall give only the merest outline here of my 
journey in Asia Minor. 

My first night was spent alone in Smyrna in a house 
on the quay which passed for a hotel, but gave me more 
the impression of being a rendezvous of brigands, for 
122 


IN THE LEVANT 


123 

practically every man but myself was armed. The big 
belt wound around the waist generally contained a col¬ 
lection of daggers and pistols and not infrequently a 
rifle was carried besides. To be dropped suddenly from 
the safe surroundings of Caucasian civilization into this 
strange medley of semi-civilization was a startling ex¬ 
perience. I ventured out upon the quay, but discretion 
deterred me from entering the maze of narrow winding 
alleys which took the place of streets in the interior of 
Smyrna. There was enough to see on the quay for one 
day; Turks, Greeks, Armenians, Albanians, Kurds, men 
from the desert, trains of camels headed by little don¬ 
keys, sheep, Arabian horses, flocks of brilliantly cloaked 
women, Ottoman soldiers, the fez, the turban, the bour- 
noose, the peaked shoe of vivid color, the flowing robe, 
the divided skirt, the prevailing reds and blues,—all 
seemed to make a picture which could only exist at a 
fancy dress ball or in a bazaar. Occasional shots fired 
apparently at random added to the outlandish effect. 

The next day the clerk who had piloted me through 
the custom-house acted as guide to the railroad station 
for Bournabat, where I made a call on some of Pen- 
gelley’s relatives. Then came the trip to Sochia to visit 
Pengelley himself. The Aidin railroad runs from Smyrna 
by the ruins of Ephesus to the Meander valley. It was 
built and managed by an English company, so that at the 
station, where the stop for a visit to the ruins of Ephesus 
was made an enterprising Greek merchant had displayed 
an English sign of Bass* Ale. 

Fresh as I was from the Eastern fringe of the United 
States and from orderly Europe the sight of the desola¬ 
tions and devastations of Asia Minor, every foot of which 
bore historical reminiscences of ancient Greek and Roman 
civilization, of Saracenic and Turkish invasions and of 
Genoese and Venetian colonization, filled me with pro¬ 
found wonder and tremendous curiosity. I longed to 


124 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

excavate and reconstruct, to replace the sad present with 
the flourishing past, when this Asian land contained some 
of the wonders of the ancient Greek world and was so 
fruitful that it acted as one of the granaries of Rome. 

Beyond the ruins of Ephesus the train slowly climbed 
on up-grade and presently came to a halt before it could 
reach the top. There was a violent discussion all through 
the train, and presently the train backed down the hill 
again, took a fresh flying start and with much puffing, 
creaking and straining, finally reached the top and 
coasted down the other side. 

At a little station called Balajik Pengelley met me 
with horses for the ride to Sochia. I had not seen him 
since school days, but we recognized each other promptly 
and he motioned to the armed cavass to bring up the 
extra horse for me. As I had not been on horseback 
since Interlaken days, and the stallion selected for me 
was provided Arab-fashion with a cruel bit, there was 
some prancing about before I could settle down to fol¬ 
low Pengelley quietly along the road to Sochia. 

If landing in Smyrna had taken me out of civilization 
into semi-civilization, this ride from Balajik to Sochia 
seemed to take me from semi-civilization into no civiliza¬ 
tion at all. The armed ruffians we met, the veiled peas¬ 
ant women, their finger-nails dyed with red henna, the 
browsing camels, the ruins, the tumbledown Turkish 
houses, the storks marching through the fields, the ragged 
cultivation, the wierd chants of the country folk which 
passed for songs, the dilapidation which characterized 
everything, all this belonged to no civilization with which 
I had ever been acquainted. There was an undercurrent 
of excitement and adventure, full of surprises. Exqui¬ 
site anemones of many colors, clothing hill and plain, 
gave a gentle touch to this strange barbaric country-side 
where Mede and Persian and many other races left some 


IN THE LEVANT 


125 

imprint, but most of all the beauty loving, temple and 
theatre-building Greeks. 

The road from Balajik to Sochia had a happy-go-lucky 
way of avoiding difficulties by skirting every rise in the 
ground and winding along the plain following the line 
of least resistance. In places it was passable for carts, 
but in others it narrowed to a mere trail for horses, don¬ 
keys and camels. Some time before my visit an enter¬ 
prising Pasha had started to build a real carriage road, 
but at a certain point it stopped apparently as suddenly 
as it started, giving no explanation of itself. 

Pengelley was delighted at my enthusiasm. He had 
had two silver pieces, of the time of Alexander the Great, 
which had been found in situ, made into cuff-buttons to 
present to me. I was deeply appreciative of the gift and 
only wondered that he had found it necessary to change 
those wonderful coins in any respect before presenting 
them to me. 

We passed through the ruins of ancient Magnesia, 
where some Circassians were encamped, crossed a little 
stone bridge which dated from the days of Genoese 
colonization and ambled into the straggling small town 
of Sochia. A warm welcome awaited me at Pengelley’s 
home and there I spent the next wonderful, fantastic 
days, living again in thought, as far as I had gained a 
knowledge of it from my classical studies, the life of the 
Greek colonists, and the Roman conquerors and con¬ 
structors. The occupation by the Ottomans seemed 
wholly superficial and barbaric. They did not seem to 
belong to the brilliant past of the country nor to its 
present great possibilities. The productive activities 
seemed to be in the hands of Greeks and Armenians and 
other enterprising levantines, with an occasional English 
or French firm or a stray Russian or German, though 
this last nationality had not in the spring of 1886 obtained 
any footing to speak of in Asia Minor, which was some 


126 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

day expected to furnish Germany a route to India. 

This journey to Smyrna and into a part of Asia Minor 
took me to the region of the Seven Churches of Asia. I 
made no attempt, however, to visit the sites of all of the 
seven, having no special interest at that time in them over 
other sites, but I explored the ruins of Ephesus from 
the station of Ayasoluk. From Sochia Pengelley took 
me for an excursion to the little abandoned and ruined 
Greek city of Priene; there after climbing to the top of 
the Acropolis I saw the ruins of Miletus in the distance, 
across the Maeander Valley. On another occasion we 
made a never-to-be-forgotten trip to Hierapolis, the 
ruined city built on a rocky terrace composed of magnesia 
and silicon deposited by hot springs. Here were the lovely 
pink and purple basins created by the impregnated waters, 
beautiful as the delicate cups of tinted lilies. After a 
swim in the warm pool, I sat on one of the stone benches 
in the vast ruined theatre of Hierapolis and looked 
over the plain of the Lycos to where further ruins in¬ 
dicated all that was left of Colosse, to the Christians of 
which city Paul wrote one of his epistles. The Maeander 
River was at once the fructifier and the terror of much 
of the country through which we passed,—the river 
known to school boys as the one to which Zenophon con¬ 
stantly refers in his Anabasis. 

I finally parted from Pengelley with the feeling of 
great gratitude for the opportunity he had afforded me 
of seeing something of this strange and historically sig¬ 
nificant part of the world. I had a great desire to pene¬ 
trate beyond Hierapolis into the interior, perhaps as far 
as Konieh, the ancient Iconium, but was counseled not 
to attempt the journey, as the whole country was emi¬ 
nently unsafe. Just before my arrival in Smyrna an 
Englishman had been captured by brigands in the envi¬ 
rons of that city and held for a long time for a ransom. 
As it was, Pengelley and I never rode out without an 


IN THE LEVANT 127 

armed guard, and from the end of the railroad to Hie- 
rapolis we had several armed men in our company. 

A curious coincidence marked my arrival at the sta¬ 
tion which then formed the end of the Aidin railroad. 
We were to spend the night with the local representative 
of Messrs. McAndrews and Forbes, and as we were 
walking from the station to his house, he introduced me 
to a young Armenian walking by his side as the local 
representative of the Stamford Manufacturing Company. 
Now that company was founded by my maternal great 
uncle, John Sanford, in association with my grandfather, 
Henry Josephus Sanford, of Stamford, Connecticut and 
of New York. Messrs. McAndrews and Forbes and the 
Stamford Manufacturing Company were both collectors 
of licorice-root for export and were in a measure com¬ 
petitors in Asia Minor, although I understood that they 
had made arrangements to divide the country between 
them. Therefore at the furthest point from civilization 
which I had ever reached at that time, I was reminded 
of home and family. When the extracting of licorice 
from the root was first attempted in that country, por¬ 
tions of the marble fluted columns which lay in all di¬ 
rections among the ruins of the Greek cities were used 
like grinding stones. 

My enthusiasm was so great that I wrote my sister 
and brother-in-law who were planning to go to Constan¬ 
tinople, not to fail to make the trip to Smyrna also, and 
then we could sail together for Constantinople and 
Athens. When in response to my urging they arrived, 
there was time for us conjointly to make a careful exam¬ 
ination of the great area of old Ephesus, and also to 
enjoy the hospitality of Pengelley’s home. Then one fine 
day we took ship for Constantinople and had the su¬ 
preme pleasure of passing the Dardanelles, the Sea of 
Marmora and finding ourselves in that strange medley of 
the East and the semi-West, of a worthy and unworthy 


128 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

past and little worth present which was Constantinople in 

1886. 

No description of the city need be attempted here, 
except as it relates to my individual growth and educa¬ 
tion. One special sight among many stands out from 
that visit to Constantinople,—it was the Dancing Der¬ 
vishes. I was greatly affected by this exhibition of a 
semi-religious male dance in a way which I could not then 
understand. The monotonous reiteration of the primitive 
notes of music which accompanied the dancing of these 
priests and the rhythmic whirling of the dancing itself 
I now know were intended to produce a hypnotic state 
and a mistaken religious ecstacy. The peculiarly perverse 
runs of the flute and the beats of the drum roused within 
me a strong resistance and disgust, so that it was with 
difficulty that I kept my seat at this exhibition, and defi¬ 
nitely vowed I would never expose myself to such an 
experience again. For years after the uncertain wavering 
flute runs characteristic of oriental music brought to my 
mind this hypnotic exhibition, even when they were in¬ 
troduced into classic music at the best concerts. We saw 
the Sultan of that day, the notorious Abdul Hamid, called 
picturesquely by Gladstone, the Great Assassin on ac¬ 
count of the Armenian massacres. He was on his way 
to the Mosque on a Friday. 

The scavenger dogs of Constantinople excited our 
pity; the glory of the Bosphorus blue our delight; the 
multi-colored crowds were a ceaseless wonder, but some¬ 
how they did not touch the heart, for the East is at first 
too cruel to draw upon the compassion of the West. 

It was not until we had sailed by Salamis into the 
harbor of Piraeus and felt the keen clean air of Greece, 
had strolled in the scrupulously clean white streets of 
Athens, that the abysmal cleft between the Orient and 
the Occident exposed itself. Athens thrilled me with 
its pure glory, both ancient and modern. The Acropolis 


IN THE LEVANT 


129 

and its priceless heritages, although it surmounted the 
city, did not entirely eclipse the clear sunlit charm of the 
modern houses, openly declaring a new Greece and a 
new nation. Since 1886 the progress of Greece has been 
by no means unchecked nor all-glorious. There have been 
reverses and there was a shameful time when its royal 
house of foreign origin was momentarily caught in the 
German trap at the beginning of the Great World War, 
but nevertless the little Greece of 1886 has grown sturdily 
and is to-day a worthy member of the family of nations. 

Ah, those exquisite spring days! With the cream 
butter of the country and honey from Hymettus on the 
table, breakfast was not a meal, but a charming historic 
feast. Then to sally into the sunny streets, make the 
tour of the sights, conjure up the past and live again 
with Socrates, Plato and Epictetus, to stand with Paul 
on Mars Hill, to caress the little temple of the Wingless 
Victory and fondly follow the perfect lines of the Parthe¬ 
non,—is not this what endears Athens to the one coming 
either from the extreme West or the nearest East? My 
heart thrilled with its beauty. 

In Athens we became acquainted with the United 
States minister of the day who I believe also served in 
Rumania and Servia. A moonlight expedition to the 
Acropolis arranged with his help was one of the delights 
of that visit, for the purity of tone and outline, which 
have made the great temples of the Acropolis models for 
the ages, are greatly enhanced by the half light of the 
moon. It seemed as though all traces of time, every 
slightest stain of weather discoloration had vanished; a 
great white light appeared to have dissipated everything 
unlike itself. At this time also I made a visit to some 
excavations which were being carried out at Laurion by 
the American School of Archeology, but after the tre¬ 
mendous untouched ruins which I had seen in Asia Minor, 
Laurion had little of interest to present. 


130 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

Our highly enjoyable visit in Athens came to a close 
and our party left for Corfu and Patras by way of the 
canal of Corinth and the town of Corinth itself. There 
was then a long tedious rough trip up the Adriatic to 
Trieste and we found ourselves once more in the typical 
atmosphere of Continental Europe, which had been left 
behind when I sailed from Naples for Smyrna. During 
the sail up the Adriatic my eye followed by the hour the 
forbidding looking coast line of the Balkan peninsula 
which has since given the world so much cause for war. 
Behind these terrible cliffs lay the mysteries of Epirus, 
Albania, Servia, Montenegro and other budding nations 
rescued from the Turkish yoke. I wondered as I sailed 
by and my wonder continued for many years, until the 
great explosion of the world war dissipated the mystery 
of those great cliffs. 

From Trieste we visited Venice. I devoured Mr. 
Howell's description of his days spent there as American 
consul while the city was still under the Austrians. 

Venice was quite different from what I had expected 
and in some respects more beautiful. To issue from the 
railroad station upon a flight of steps leading to the 
water's edge, to enter a black gondola, bag and baggage, 
and be rowed along the silent, tideless canals to your 
hotel seemed almost too good to be true. Was this really 
the usual way of getting about or was this mere play to 
humor visitors? No, the wonder grew apace with every 
day spent in Venice that this aquatic life could be the 
real life of the place. 

At this time I began to assume a semi-humorous, in¬ 
dulgent attitude towards these foreign cities, which is 
the habitual American condition of mind towards all 
things foreign. My experience in the Orient had dulled 
the edge of the sensational. The guides and beggars 
of Italy might be insistent and persistent, but I had just 
come from a country where people went about armed to 


IN THE LEVANT 


131 

the teeth, therefore I looked at these amateur brigands 
with a good humored indulgence, they did not know that 
I had ridden all day with an armed cavass by the name 
of Ali, who had been a real brigand and had but recently 
surrendered himself to the authorities. The stone courts 
which passed for bedrooms in Italy seemed luxurious 
after the sleeping accommodations in the Orient. 

There was a visit to London and presently I found 
myself in Liverpool, ready to sail for home once more. 
Either there or in London I met Mr. James Knox of 
St. Paul’s School, Concord, New Hampshire, taking a 
short vacation. It was a pleasant meeting and Mr. Knox 
suggested my returning to the school as master for a 
year at least. The project appealed to me and arrange¬ 
ments were then set on foot which ended in my find¬ 
ing myself once more, in the fall of 1886, at St. Paul’s 
School under Dr. Henry A. Coit, much to my surprise. 

Of the visit to Liverpool the most vivid recollection, 
strangely enough, was hearing for the first time a Hun¬ 
garian band at the Exhibition which was being held there 
that summer. Here was something as absolutely new and 
delightful to my musical sense as the Dancing Dervishes 
had proved to be disgusting to the ear and the eye. This 
Hungarian music fascinated, stirred the imagination and 
touched the heart. It carried with it some of the sadness 
of a people long oppressed by the Turkish menace against 
their lands and also the fierce joy of battle and deliver¬ 
ance; it seemed a mixture of the elegy and the dance, 
of tears and laughter; yet it was not quite of the West, 
for it was not well ordered enough; it was neither Italian 
nor German, nor yet quite Russian, though its moments 
of passionate abandon recalled the Russian steppes. 

From this summer of 1886 also dates a short walking 
tour in the Isle of Wight. John R. Cunningham joined 
me in London and we decided to try to repeat some of 
our Swiss experiences while in England, selecting that 


132 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

beautiful island for our experiment. We circled a good 
portion of the Isle of Wight on this walk of three days, 
keeping as close to the sea as we could. The weather was 
exquisite; the delicate kindly tones of the English land¬ 
scape were at their best; that peculiar softness of the 
atmosphere which seems to be found nowhere else in 
such fullness of beauty, hovered over land and sea; even 
the sparkle of the sea was tempered by the mauve veilings 
of mist which came and went hour by hour. 

When we reached the end of the island, where the 
famous Needles have waded out to sea and are standing 
guard over the shipping passing to and fro from South¬ 
ampton harbor, we followed a narrow path over the 
downs to the furthest edge of the cliffs and basked in the 
breeze and breath of this exposed spot. Then we retraced 
our steps into the village of Freshwater and entered the 
inn for some refreshment. As we sat there the innkeeper 
suddenly said, “Lord Tennyson is coming this way.” He 
pointed down the road and we stood at the window as 
the great poet walked slowly by with his son Lionel. 

Tennyson looked exactly like his picture. There was 
the great head with long hair and wide beard, the quiet 
meditative air, the repose in the eyes. A cloak thrown 
over the shoulders completed the picture of a real poet. 
I have never met a great man who in appearance so 
completely filled the frame of my expectations. Fresh 
from college as we were Cunningham and I were filled 
with a sort of gentle awe. Here was the man known 
and beloved in two continents. I recalled especially his 
poem on Ulysses, one of my favorites, which Mr. Au¬ 
gustus M. Swift had caused us at St. Paul’s School to 
learn by heart. Here was the author of “Break, break, 
break on thy cold grey stones, O sea,” a poem doubtless 
inspired by the waves breaking on the very shore we had 
just been watching from the top of the cliffs. Tennyson 
walked by carrying with him the admiration and gratitude 


IN THE LEVANT 


133 


of two Americans of his own race and kin across the 
sea. A great cross now stands on the downs as a token 
of affection from the Anglo-Saxon peoples for the great 
poet who has forged a noble link in their bond of brother¬ 
hood. 


CHAPTER IX 

At Concord, New Hampshire 

Thus with the opening of the school year for 1886, I 
found myself back again at St. Paul’s School, Concord, 
New Hampshire, after an absence ,of a little over four 
years, a master at twenty years of age. Behind me lay 
many significant experiences and now I was to have a 
year at least within which to pass them in review. What 
was I to do with them? The desire to write was strong 
upon me, in the meantime I greatly enjoyed the New 
Hampshire country, the walks over the hills and occa¬ 
sional horseback rides. Among the school customs which 
I remember was the charming one by which the first may- 
flower (trailing arbutus) found in the spring was taken 
to the rectory, the event noted in the Horae Scholasticae 
and the boy who found it was invited to dinner by Mrs. 
Coit. This reference to the school paper reminds me that 
it was in its pages that Marion Crawford made his first 
literary efforts. There was a farmhouse which I recalled 
from my school days as perhaps the most unattractive 
of all in the neighborhood, a dingy house with bam and 
connecting covered way, after the fashion of New Hamp¬ 
shire farms. Some straggling grass patches and a few 
sombre pines made an unkempt front. My recollection 
was of seeing two elderly men working about the place 
and of no one else. After the year 1892 when I revisited 
the school I noticed that a strong fence with granite posts 
surrounded the place and a granite arch spanned the 
entrance of the drive into the grounds. The farmhouse 
had been converted into a pleasant dwelling house. 

Years went by before I heard that this new arrival 
in the neighborhood was Mrs. Mary Baker Eddy, the 
Discoverer and Founder of Christian Science, who be¬ 
came an honored benefactor of the city during her resi¬ 
dence at Pleasant View. When I visited Concord in 
134 


AT CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE 135 

1900, Pleasant View was within sight of Bow Hill, Mrs. 
Eddy’s birthplace. 

Not only had the least of the farmhouses been con¬ 
verted into the best of the local dwelling houses, but the 
road in front of Pleasant View which I remember as the 
worst part of the road into Concord had become the 
best; for in winter that part used to gather the deepest 
drifts, in spring the worst of the melting slush and in 
summer the greatest dust, but after it had been macada¬ 
mized it presented the smoothest and hardest of surfaces. 
Thus had the worst become the best at the touch of a good 
woman’s influence. 

My year as Master at St. Paul’s School was varied 
in its interests. I had charge of the dormitory at the 
Upper School, taught the Shell Form the rudiments of 
the three R’s, and had some classes in French and Ger¬ 
man. My principal companions were the Rev. Epiphanius 
Wilson who later became Editor of the Churchman in 
New York and the two brothers, Edward and Arnold 
Spanhoofd, who had the chief classes in German. Mr. 
Wilson was an Englishman of university training and 
wide reading, who had been stationed for some time in 
Labrador. I felt free to speak to him openly about the 
many world questions which even then were troubling 
me. The brothers Spanhoofd were inclined to be pro¬ 
gressive in their view and many an hour was spent by 
us in discussing the changes in social, economic and 
political conditions which seemed essential. This com¬ 
panionship afforded me an outlet for the expression of 
opinions which were surging strongly within me. 

My gratitude goes out to these men now for the 
freedom which they made possible for me, for in other 
respects the discipline of the school grated sharply upon 
me, until I once exclaimed to a colleague, “This is no 
work for a gentleman.” To which he rejoined very 
aptly, “Only a gentleman can do it.” This remark of 


136 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

mine having come to Dr. Coit's ears, he had a little talk 
with me about it. The same curious feeling came over 
me which used to afflict us all as boys; I seemed helpless 
in his presence; and made very lame rejoinders to his 
remarks. There were weekly Masters meetings in the 
Doctor's study which I used to dread for some ill defined 
reason. Certain it is that the Doctor's will and his point 
of view were always determining though generally ex¬ 
pressed in the mildest terms. Among the pupils during 
that year were my two second cousins, Everett and 
Clarence B. Smith, sons of Rev. Cornelius Bishop Smith. 
I bear the pleasantest recollection of these dear boys. 
Everett became an Episcopal minister and Clarence en¬ 
tered the law in which he is carving out for himself an 
honorable and successful career. 

During my stay of one year at St. Paul’s School as a 
master I thought much about a history of Switzerland. 
I had on hand my first studies on the subject of comparing 
the Constitution of the United States with that of 
Switzerland. Though much hampered by lack of refer¬ 
ence books, yet I wrote a little as opportunity came. My 
experiences in Asia Minor also were constantly recurring 
to my thought, producing in me a great desire to go back 
there, penetrate into the interior and excavate the vast 
ruins which at that time had been almost untouched by 
archeologists. I devoured eagerly everything I could 
find on the subject until the project of going abroad after 
my year as master was finished shaped itself definitely in 
my mind. 

Towards the close of the term Dr. Coit talked with 
me about returning for the next term. He was not greatly 
impressed with my desire to go to Asia Minor and lose 
myself among the ruins, nor with my interest in Swiss 
history and strongly urged me to return to the school 
and perhaps make teaching my life work. Finally there 
came a day when I must give him a definite answer. 


AT CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE 137 

It was my purpose not to return; I felt cramped and 
bound by the religious atmosphere of the school which 
I had outgrown; the great world called to me, although 
the prospect of worldly success was small indeed; yet my 
income was sufficient to satisfy modest needs; I felt I 
must get away. But the power of the Doctor’s per¬ 
suasive mentality which had so often been proved to me 
before constrained me and I felt I must not attempt to 
argue my position with him, or he would gain the upper 
hand and I would find myself doing as he advised even 
against my will. During the painful interview I said 
little but clung with desperation to my resolution not to 
reengage myself for another year. I seemed glued to 
my chair while the doctor wove the net of persuasion 
around me. At the close I escaped without having 
acquiesced in his desire and never again was the subject 
of my return to the school urged upon me. 

I greatly appreciate today the many virtues of St. 
Paul’s School as I knew it, the charm of its scholarship, 
its wholesome outdoor life, and its deep friendships. 
From the bottom of my heart as I write I thank Dr. Coit 
for his superb devotion to an ideal which made all this 
possible. I honor him also for his perception of the 
essential bond between our best American life and the 
Old England of our ancestral ideals. He has his share 
in the Anglo-American union of hearts and purposes, in 
ushering in a practical expression of Anglo-Israel, of the 
restoration of Israel in accordance with prophecy. When 
some years later the news reached me that Dr. Coit had 
left us and that a monument to him was to be placed 
in the chapel which he loved so much, as a grateful pupil 
I gladly contributed to perpetuate his memory in the 
manner chosen. When Dr. Shattuck, the founder of 
the school died on February 5th, 1895, he could look back 
upon vast changes. Unlike most benefactors he was 
able to see the fruits of his bequests with his own eyes. 


138 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

From three boys the number in attendance had grown 
to more than three hundred; from fifty-five acres the 
lands had increased to over five hundred and fifty. 


CHAPTER X 

Writing My History of Switzerland 

The summer of 1887 found me once more in Switzer¬ 
land taking up the thread of my studies in Swiss his¬ 
tory and making personal visits to the places off the 
beaten track of tourist travel, where the decisive events 
in Swiss history had taken place. My love for the coun¬ 
try was so great and my interest in its slightest and most 
obscure historical experiences so profound, that I am 
certain at this writing on December 2nd, 1918, that these 
sentiments must have had some important bearing upon 
my life purpose. It was my hope when publishing my 
books “The Rise of the Swiss Republic,” “Romance and 
Teutonic Switzerland” and my pamphlet “Swiss Solutions 
of American Problems” that I might prove myself useful 
to my own country and Switzerland. Before the fall of 
1887 came I had covered a good part of Switzerland and 
filled some note books with first impressions which later 
lent local color to my history and the further descriptive 
books which I had in mind. At Lausanne, on this visit 
to Switzerland I met a lady, Miss Isabella Banks, whom 
I married on October 12th of that year in London, Eng¬ 
land, at the church of St. James, Piccadilly. 

That winter we remained in Zurich, Switzerland, while 
I was studying and writing on my history, residing at the 
Hotel Bellevue, near the Lake of Zurich. I frequented 
a great deal the public library in the old Wasserkirche of 
Zurich, transcribing and gathering material from the 
dusty old tomes there. With the approach of spring came 
a visit to the Italian Lakes where the first impressions 
were gathered for a book upon that exquisite region, a 
book which was not, however, undertaken until the year 
1906 when I was residing in Boston as First Reader of 
The First Church of Christ Scientist, The Mother Church 
139 


140 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

of Christian Science, and occupying Mrs. Eddy's house 
at 385 Commonwealth Avenue. 

There were visits to the Pension Simpkin at Inter¬ 
laken, visits to the aunties who had now left Interlaken 
definitely and lived first at Wiesbaden and then at Baden 
Baden. One winter they spent at Bozen in Southern 
Tyrol. Thither came my brother John, his wife Cora and 
their little daughter Gertrude, who toured Tyrol in the 
most original manner, walking from place to place, wheel¬ 
ing the child in her baby carriage and entering intimately 
into the life of the peasantry. John took many photo¬ 
graphs, some of which I used later in my “Fair Land 
Tyrol”; he also wrote an account of the leisurely wander¬ 
ings of the three in his own hand, sending copies to the 
different members of the family. 

John possessed the secret of entering into the hearts 
of the people; his simple ways, his high spirituality, his 
unfeigned interest in their daily affairs, his turn for 
mechanical contrivances and his command of the dialect 
endeared him to all. Of him it could be said as of Jesus, 
“the common people heard him gladly.” His career was 
as original as his character and deserves a volume by 
itself. After leaving the theological Seminary in Middle- 
town, Connecticut, my brother served as assistant clergy¬ 
man in Christ Church, Hartford. He was then called to 
California and filled the position of rector of the Episcopal 
church in Sierra Madre near Pasadena. 

Then came a call to go to Munich, Bavaria, to take 
charge of the American church there, as he spoke German 
and understood the country. For my brother's work in 
Munich many Americans and English have reason to be 
grateful. He gathered around him the young people of 
the English speaking race and provided them with a com¬ 
mon meeting place and common interests. He founded 
a library of English books and named it after my mother. 
His home was open to all. He was a father to the father- 


WRITING MY HISTORY OF SWITZERLAND 141 

less, his love of music and of nature, his inventiveness, his 
generosity, his simple living endeared him to wholesome 
youth. During his stay in Munich he was called once or 
twice to assist Dr. Nevin, rector of the American Epis¬ 
copal church in Rome. It was characteristic of him that 
he did not feel at home amid the ecclesiastical display in 
Rome, and it was there, that he had the first attack of a 
physical ailment which later carried him off in the year 
1906 in Munich. 

Following his usual custom, John, during his stay in 
Munich became very friendly with the peasant population 
of some of the places in the nearby Bavarian Highlands. 
He was a frequent visitor at Oberammergau, where the 
famous Passion Play takes place every ten years. He 
knew well all the men and the women who took parts in 
the play, especially the admirable Anton Lang, who acted 
the character of Jesus and wore his blond hair long, down 
to his shoulders. John founded another library of English 
books in Oberammergau. So beloved was he in the vil¬ 
lage that when the good people heard that he had died in 
Munich they petitioned the Kultus Minister of the Bava¬ 
rian government for permission to bury him near them. 
The permission of Mrs. John H. McCrackan and of the 
government having been obtained, the body was buried on 
the slope of a hill overlooking the village, on the top of 
which stands the marble monument erected by King Lud¬ 
wig of Bavaria. When I visited Oberammergau some 
years after to see my brother’s grave, Anton Lang and the 
other actors in the Passion Play gave me a hearty 
welcome. 

In pursuing my study of Swiss history, I spent parts 
of two summers in succession at Altdorf in Canton Uri, 
Switzerland, following up all traces of the William Tell 
story and familiarizing myself thoroughly with the old 
Cantons surrounding the Lake of Lucerne, where the 


142 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

Swiss Confederation had its origin. I also used exten¬ 
sively the library of the University of Geneva, especially 
with reference to the times of Calvin and that pictures¬ 
que figure, Bonnivard, the prisoner of Chillon. Time 
will not permit me to tell of all the historic places visited, 
the passes crossed, and the peaks climbed. I think it is 
no exaggeration to say that when my Swiss studies were 
completed I had a more general knowledge of Swiss life 
and of Switzerland itself below the snow line than any 
English-speaking person, unless I except my friend, Mr. 
W. A. B. Coolidge, the writer of the articles on Switzer¬ 
land in the Encyclopaedia Brittanica, who was certainly 
supreme above the snow line. 

Mr. Coolidge was an American by birth, who at an 
early age had gone to England, studied at Oxford and 
then started to climb all the great peaks in Europe. My 
first meeting with Mr. Coolidge was amusing, and led to 
other occasional meetings when I was abroad and cir¬ 
cumstances permitted. After my history, “The Rise of 
the Swiss Republic,” had appeared Mr. Coolidge re¬ 
viewed it in the English Historical Review and there en¬ 
sued some correspondence between us. Mr. Coolidge 
finally arranged that we should meet at the hamlet of 
Lavin in the Engadine while he was in that district on 
a trip mapping out the snow peaks for a monumental 
work on the Swiss Alps; and so it happened that one sum¬ 
mer's day, the 26th of July, 1895, I stepped from the 
little diligence at Lavin and met Mr. Coolidge for the 
first time. Our surprise was mutual. I had pictured 
Mr. Coolidge as a powerful, somewhat aggressive man, 
probably having in my mind his ascents of all the most 
difficult peaks in the Alps. I found him to be indeed 
a Well set, bearded man, but as shy and as embarrassed 
in manner as a girl. What he may have expected of me 
I do not know exactly, but he afterwards confessed to me 


WRITING MY HISTORY OP SWITZERLAND 143 

his great surprise at finding the author of “The Rise 
of the Swiss Republic” so young a man. 

Mr. Coolidge was accompanied by his regular guide, 
the well-known Christian Aimer Jr. of Grindelwald. 
We arranged to climb the snow peak of the Piz Fliana, 
10,775 feet next day, Mr. Coolidge later writing an ac¬ 
count of this ascent for the Bulletin of the Swiss Alpine 
Club, which he afterwards sent me. Our climb estab¬ 
lished a new route up this fine point of view. The last 
time I saw Mr. Coolidge he had taken a house in Grin¬ 
delwald, and had installed himself there bag and baggage 
—baggage in his case being synonymous with books. His 
house seemed to be literally filled with books from top 
to bottom. We made the rounds of the heavily laden 
shelves together, and he pointed out to me my own books 
carefully preserved by him in the collection of works on 
Swiss history. 

Mr. Coolidge was always very modest about his as¬ 
cents of the great peaks, leaving one with the impression 
that they were all extremely easy, and that the famous 
climbs at whose mere mention I had always been awed 
were no more difficult than promenades. He always left 
me with the impression that his many years of explora¬ 
tion and extremely dangerous work had in reality been 
crowded with fun and joy. Among other souvenirs of 
his climbing days he showed me a peculiar dog collar 
which had belonged to his inseparable companion of many 
years, a dog of no special breed who had travelled and 
climbed with him. This dog had many notable ascents to 
his name, so that Mr. Coolidge had caused to be fixed to 
his collar brass tags with the names of the mountains he 
had climbed. 

When I returned to the United States I found my 
dear mother and my step-father living in a pleasant brick 
house in Middletown, Connecticut Mr. Copeland had 


144 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

formed a strong friendship with John during the latter’s 
years of study at the Episcopal Seminary at Middletown. 
My step-father was a staunch supporter of the Episcopal 
church and at the same time had many friends in Wes¬ 
leyan University. If I am not mistaken he was an 
honorary member of the local chapter of Psi U whose 
hieetings he often attended; he was very fond of music, 
having played the organ in church for many years; he 
also had a talent for illuminating texts after the manner 
of mediaeval artists. It was his habit to rise very early 
in the morning and do this work with the aid of a strong 
magnifying glass. All of us children liked him, and his 
sister, Miss Mary Copeland, for they were both warm 
hearted and generous. 

Later Mr. and Mrs. Copeland moved down to New 
York and occupied a large roomy apartment in the Dal- 
housie on 59th Street facing Central Park. In its day 
this apartment house was one of the loftiest and best 
equipped in New York. Mr. William Dean Howells 
lived in the same house and there I called upon him with 
special delight. 

While in Middletown I several times met on the streets 
a man whose clear-cut scholarly face strongly attracted me, 
although I never became acquainted with him. Mr. Cope¬ 
land informed me that he was Woodrow Wilson, at that 
time a Professor in Wesleyan University, since arisen to 
fame as President of the United States. Woodrow Wil¬ 
son was at Wesleyan from 1888 to 1890. I was familiar 
with Professor Wilson’s studies on comparative govern¬ 
ments and had used them in preparing myself for my 
history of Switzerland. Mr. Copeland knew Professor 
Wilson as he did the other members of the faculty of 
Wesleyan University. 

As the first fruits of my studies in Swiss history I 
had sent from abroad two articles to The Atlantic 


WRITING MY HISTORY OF SWITZERLAND 145 

Monthly in Boston, but as I heard nothing from them 
I decided to go to Boston myself and ascertain their fate. 

The poet, Thomas Bailey Aldrich, was editor of The 
Atlantic Monthly at that time. I recall with great pleas¬ 
ure the reception he accorded me, although I was an en¬ 
tirely unknown writer. Many a beginner must recall 
with mixed feelings the building on Park Street, Bos¬ 
ton, where the venerable Atlantic Monthly has so long 
been housed. “Mr. Aldrich would like to see you,” was 
the message I received when I had entered the office of 
the famous periodical, and made my inquiry about the 
articles. Mr. Aldrich was exceedingly kind and appre¬ 
ciative of my work. He remarked that I had expressed 
a new beauty in my articles and informed me, to my 
great joy, that he had decided to use them soon in the 
magazine. He went on to advise my writing some more 
for The Atlantic Monthly, to* which I gladly agreed. 

The world looked very bright and the ground was 
cushioned with air as I walked away from Park Street 
and mingled with the crowd on Tremont Street. This 
experience was the beginning of a strong attachment for 
Boston which constantly brought me back whenever I 
settled elsewhere and supposed that my work in Boston 
was complete. The Atlantic Monthly published several 
further articles of mine, the substance of which was 
later incorporated into “The Rise of the Swiss Republic,” 
and the two little volumes, “Romance and Teutonic 
Switzerland.” When, however, I later began to be in¬ 
terested in political and economic reforms and, taking 
Switzerland for my source of information began to ad¬ 
vocate the Referendum, the Initiative, Proportional Rep¬ 
resentation and other reforms, I found an avenue for my 
views in The Arena, a new monthly founded by that 
brave fore-fighter for human rights, Mr. B. O. Flower. 
In the meantime I went abroad again to pursue my 


146 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

studies further. Well do I remember the day in Geneva 
when a check arrived from The Atlantic Monthly for 
my first two articles with the announcement that they 
had appeared in the October and November numbers 
for 1890. This was my first payment for literary work. 
I recall my surprise at the size of the check and my won¬ 
der that anyone should wish to pay me so generously for 
doing that which gave me so much pleasure in the doing. 

While working on my history of Switzerland I spent 
a winter in Rome writing fitfully upon that book while at 
the same time becoming well acquainted with the city, 
and its environs from every point of view. At this time 
I saw a great deal of the American artists who had stu¬ 
dios there, Elihu Vedder, the illustrator of the Rubaiyat 
of Omar Khayyam and designer of the mosaic Minerva 
in the Congressional Library at Washington, was a cen¬ 
tral figure in the American colony; with his wife he 
kept open house for his compatriots and the interesting 
travelers who were always passing through Rome. He 
was a bluff, hale and hearty, unconventional man, fun¬ 
damentally original and full of jokes. I recall waiting 
with him on the stand erected in front of the American 
Church on the Via Nazionale when the German Em¬ 
peror, William II, made one of his fateful visits to Rome. 
His jocular treatment of the whole occurrence amused 
me greatly. 

Another home I visited frequently was that of the 
designer of the east bronze doors of the rotunda under 
the dome of the Capitol in Washington, Randolph 
Rogers, who was then living in Rome at an advanced age, 
a massive man with a majestic head and a long white 
beard falling upon his breast. He would sit quiet and 
wordless while his sons and daughters were entertaining 
their friends, and his grandchildren were romping about 
the room. 


WRITING MY HISTORY OF SWITZERLAND 147 

At this house I used to meet the two brothers, Fran¬ 
cesco and Leo Mariotti, who had married sisters, two 
American girls of very different natures, Melanie and 
Eva. Francesco Mariotti was a secretary in the King’s 
household and it was his delight to “carry on” in the 
most ridiculous fashion when we met at the house of the 
Rogers family. We would play children’s games and 
charades while he mimicked and mocked everything and 
everybody to our great delight. He was excruciatingly 
funny in staging and imitating the conventional subjects 
in the picture galleries. Leo Mariotti was a painter, a 
great whole-souled boyish man with a special love for 
the Campagna; its flat wastes, its flocks of sheep, the 
stretches of the Appian Way, the stray columns of the 
ruined aqueducts and the distant range of the Alban 
Hills—all had a deep meaning and awoke a great love 
in him. 

Another home in which I was most hospitably re¬ 
ceived was that of the sculptor Ives originally from New 
Haven, Connecticut, and thereby hangs a most interest¬ 
ing little tale. 

After the visit to Rome made by my parents with 
grandmother McCrackan and the three aunts, the year 
before my birth in 1863, my mother had sent to Mrs. 
Ives a photograph taken of me as a baby sitting on the 
floor and holding in my hand one of those crescent-shaped 
bread rolls so common on the continent of Europe. This 
photograph Mrs. Ives had placed in a large album along 
with many photographs of friends, and it had been her 
custom in entertaining her own children, as they grew up, 
to turn the leaves of this album and tell them something 
about the photographs. Mine was called by her children 
“the Crackan Baby.” When in the winter of 1888 I 
called on Mrs. Ives with a letter of introduction from 
some other member of the American colony I knew noth- 


148 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

ing of this personal incident. On seeing my card, Mrs. 
Ives inquired whether my parents had ever visited Rome 
in years gone by. I told her of the time as near as I 
could remember; she smiled and turning to go into an¬ 
other room said to me, “Then I think you must be ‘The 
Crackan Baby\” Presently she returned with the old- 
fashioned album and showed me my photograph as a 
baby. Needless to say I was a welcome visitor at her 
house after that. 

During this sojourn in Rome two events stand out as 
of special importance in my memory. The first was a 
visit to St. Peters when Leo XIII officiated there at a 
mass for the dead. I was given to understand at the 
time that this was his first official entry into the basilica 
itself. Something within me rebelled powerfully against 
this ecclesiastical display. I afterwards presented my 
impressions in an article entitled: “Pontifex Maximus,” 
first published in Boston in The Arena and then subse¬ 
quently in a little volume entitled “Little Idylls of the Big 
World.” Everything in me that was American and 
came from a long line of liberty loving ancestors revolted 
definitely and finally against this ceremony. 

Another incident connected with my sojourn in Rome 
in 1888 was the visit that autumn of the young Kaiser 
William II and his brother Henry, to the Quirinal and to 
the Vatican. I saw them pass down the Via Nazionale, 
while standing in front of the American church, and 
again saw them driving from the Quirinal to the German 
Embassy for a visit to the Vatican. 

It would have been hard to find two likelier young 
men than these two as they showed themselves to the 
cheering throngs. Great achievements for good were pos¬ 
sible to them both, but as I write this, on November 17th, 
1918, after the lapse of thirty years, these two men are 
both fugitives in a foreign land, one of them held re- 


WRITING MY HISTORY OF SWITZERLAND 149 

sponsible by the world for the greatest and most diaboli¬ 
cal war ever known in history. The clue to the Kaiser’s 
life failure is to be found in this first visit to Rome. This 
was the parting of the ways for William II, and even¬ 
tually for Germany. This visit was followed next spring 
by one to the notorious Sultan Abdul Hamid at Constan¬ 
tinople, thus marking the first time that one of the great 
rulers of Christiandom had been the guest of a Moham¬ 
medan Sultan. In 1898, William II repeated his visit 
to the Sultan and made his spectacular entry into Jeru¬ 
salem. 


CHAPTER XI 

Living in Boston 

In 1890 I took up my residence definitely in Boston, 
where my literary work first found acceptance. I fin¬ 
ished “The Rise of the Swiss Republic” and “Romance 
and Teutonic Switzerland” in my apartment at 376 New¬ 
bury Street on the corner of Massachusetts Avenue. 
From my windows I could look over some vacant lots to 
Commonwealth Avenue to a brown house with a turret 
which at that time stood almost alone. That house was 
385 Commonwealth Avenue and was owned by Mrs. 
Eddy, the Discoverer and Founder of Christian Science. 
I did not, however, know this at the time, nor have I any 
recollection of hearing of Christian Science itself during 
my residence in Boston. I have a vague recollection of 
seeing a new church in process of erection on an un¬ 
sightly triangle of made land in the direction of Hun¬ 
tington Avenue, but churches interested me little at that 
time, and I did not give the matter a second thought. 

The Atlantic Monthly having found my political and 
economic articles too advanced for its readers, I began 
to publish my views in The Arena, which made its home 
in the handsome new Pearce building on Copley Square. 
My advanced views disturbed some of my friends very 
much. They would have preferred that my writings 
should have remained within the frame of general popu¬ 
lar opinion, but in spite of my temperamental desire to 
please and so see good in everything and everyone, I was 
continually being pushed to think and write more em¬ 
phatically, as the pressing need for great changes in the 
world forced itself upon me. 

While spending the winter in Zurich in 1887, study¬ 
ing for my history of Switzerland, my brother-in-law, 
Lawson Purdy, of New York, had written me about 
150 


LIVING IN BOSTON 


151 

Henry George's great work, “Progress and Poverty,” 
which had shed a new light upon world problems for him. 
He was the first to interest me in George's proposed 
Single Tax and on my return to the United States I defi¬ 
nitely associated myself with this reform, speaking and 
writing about it as opportunity afforded. At this time I 
acquired the habit which as yet has never left me, that 
of being in the minority. 

The men whom I met in connection with the Single 
Tax agitation were necessarily altruistic, for there was 
no immediate visible gain for the individual to be de¬ 
rived from this reform, but only a general gain as the 
whole level of conditions was raised. In this manner I 
learned to know more or less intimately William Lloyd 
Garrison of Boston, Louis F. Post, Editor of The Public 
in Chicago, Thomas A. Shearman of Brooklyn, Tom L. 
Johnson of Cleveland, Ohio, Father McGlynn, who so 
bravely advocated Henry George's teachings in the Anti 
Poverty Society of New York, James A. Herne, the actor- 
playwright, author of “Shore Acres,” Hamlin Garland 
the author, and many other good men whom it would 
be a pleasure to mention here. 

Henry George himself and his family I knew well. 
George was essentially a prophet and teacher, not a poli¬ 
tician. He had the world outlook; as a boy he had sailed 
before the mast and had seen world conditions for him¬ 
self, so that when he sought for a remedy for the ills of 
mankind, his proposed reform was world wide. Without 
attempting to enter into a description of his teaching or 
his career, suffice it to say that for me, he acted as a 
John the Baptist, awakening me from indifference and a 
proneness to dilettantism. 

My debt to Henry George is deep and lasting. He 
was physically a small man with a dome-shaped head of 
great power. When he strode up and down on the plat- 


152 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

form, he was like a lion, every word was a blow, every 
gesture a stroke. He was an individualist to the core; 
it was never his purpose to pull down, but always to 
build up mankind, as the following little incident illus¬ 
trates. He was once reproached by some friends in the 
ranks of labor for wearing a dress suit at a public dinner 
at which he spoke, but he declared that his purpose was 
not to take a dress suit from anyone, but to give every 
man an opportunity to wear one. 

On account of his advocacy of radical land reform, 
some Irish politicians at first espoused his cause, but as 
soon as they discovered that he stood for land reform 
in all lands, they at once dropped him and to the last he 
received only opposition from all political parties which 
feared his irresistible logic and the religious fervor of 
his convictions. Henry George confirmed my natural 
trend of thought towards liberty, by proving that the 
cure for mankind’s economic ills cannot lie in more and 
more legislation but in freedom of action. He showed 
that free trade, free expansion produces the most whole¬ 
some conditions; that state interference, except in nat¬ 
ural monopolies produces further troubles. He showed 
the underlying fallacies of state socialism as imported 
from Germany, and was ever an out and out combatant 
of collective tyranny under whatever name. Henry 
George was a noble, disinterested, powerful awakener 
for multitudes. On the occasion of one of my trips to 
Europe he furnished me with a letter of introduction 
and a list of his many sympathizers in Europe which I 
used with great pleasure. 

At the time of my first residence in Boston Henry 
George’s teachings constituted about all the religion I had. 
I attended Emanuel Episcopal Church a few times, and 
heard some of the notable preachers of the day, but was 
not regular anywhere in my church attendance. It was 


LIVING IN BOSTON 


153 

the Boston of Phillips Brooks, Edward Everett Hale and 
Minot Savage, each in his way a power of religious 
thought, men who applied their religious convictions to 
the questions of the day and were eagerly listened to. 
The theory of evolution was still new enough to be a live 
issue in sermons. People not only went to church to hear 
sermons, but read them in the daily papers and discussed 
them among themselves afterwards. 

The exaggerated headline newspaper had not yet 
crept into Boston for editors had a following of inter¬ 
ested readers to whom they talked daily as the preachers 
talked to their congregations. The public library, a 
powerful and characteristic Boston institution, was still 
down on Boylston Street near Tremont, on the site of 
the present Colonial Theatre, but was preparing to move 
into sumptuous quarters on Copeley Square. The Mu¬ 
seum of Fine Arts was also on that square, where the 
Hotel Copley Plaza now stands, and there Mr. Edward 
Robinson as Curator was gradually assembling casts of 
all the great statues in the world. 

I recall going to find him one day in the basement of 
the museum and suddenly finding myself face to face 
with a cast of that superb bronze statue of King Arthur 
of England, which stands among many others around 
the tomb of Emperor Maximilian of Hapsburg in the 
parish church of Innsbruck in Tyrol. I had visited Inns¬ 
bruck not long before and had derived a deep joy from 
coming unexpectedly upon the original statue, while I was 
somewhat perfunctorily making the rounds of the art 
treasures. I had stopped before the King Arthur statue 
amazed at its ideal beauty. Mr. Robinson told me he 
had had great difficulty in securing this cast; the one in 
the museum in Boston was, as far as he then knew, the 
first which had ever been permitted to leave Innsbruck, 
and he was correspondingly glad to have me admire it 
so much. 


154 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

The Arena Publishing Company issued “The Rise of 
the Swiss Republic” in 1892, and in 1894 The Joseph 
Knight Company, which was later absorbed by the L. C. 
Page Company, my “Romance and Teutonic Switzer¬ 
land.” I also gathered my articles on political reforms 
based upon my study of Swiss institutions and with my 
mother’s financial assistance issued a small paper covered 
book, entitled “Swiss Solutions of American Problems.” 
The Joseph Knight Company published a small volume 
of mine entitled “Little Idyls of the Big World.” My 
history was later revised and issued by Henry Holt and 
Company of New York. An edition of “The Rise of the 
Swiss Republic” appeared in England, and the principal 
newspapers in Great Britain reviewed it favorably. 

The Rt. Hon. James Bryce, then occupying the Duchy 
of Lancaster Office, wrote me from London, October 
27th, 1892, “It seems to me that you have happily blended 
the picturesque treatment which some parts of Swiss his¬ 
tory demand with the object of bringing out the political 
lesson of the last thirty or fifty years. I trust your book 
may do much to show our people, as well as yours, how 
much is to be learned from a study of Swiss affairs.” 
The chief Swiss review the Bibliotheque Universelle, 
published in Lausanne, said: “Mr. McCrackan is a 
young American writer, who has devoted himself to the 
task of making Switzerland known to his countrymen; 
. ... he has the merit of having studied his subject 

most conscientiously; the enormous list of works he has 
consulted would suffice to show this. He has visited our 
country with care, examined the battle-fields, which were 
the scenes of Helvetian heroism, and informed himself 
about our intellectual, artistic and literary development.” 

These Boston days were full of reform endeavors. 
Through Mr. B. O. Flower of The Arena, I became 
acquainted with many powerful thinkers to whom he 


LIVING IN BOSTON 


155 

opened the hospitable columns of his fearless magazine. 
In Mr. Flower's office I met for the first time Wm. P. 
McKenzie with whom I was later to be closely associated 
in editorial work. Here also I met William Ordway 
Partridge, an enthusiastic American idealist who was 
already then producing excellent work in sculpture. Par¬ 
tridge had a studio at Milton where he executed some big 
pieces. The Hamilton statue now standing in front of 
the Hamilton Club in Brooklyn, N. Y., is one of Par¬ 
tridge’s best. I recall his telling me how the striking 
pose of that figure came to him suddenly one night after 
he had gone to bed, and how he rose and struck an atti¬ 
tude before the mirror to fasten it definitely upon his 
mind. 

Partridge dropped me a line one day asking me to 
come to see him as he had an important project to unfold 
to me. I found him rather overwhelmed by the work 
which he had taken upon himself, namely, to get the 
progressive thinkers of Boston together into a Club. He 
informed me that he had talked over the subject with 
Phillips Brooks, who had heartily approved and now he 
wished me to act as secretary of this new club, and send 
out invitations to a list of men who were known to be 
fearless thinkers. I consented, and this was the begin¬ 
ning of the Twentieth Century Club, which later became 
a veritable institution of Boston. 

Partridge was not only a sculptor but wrote excellent 
verse as well which was published from time to time. 
With reference to his work as a sculptor I recall the time 
when he was making the equestrian statue of Grant, 
which now stands in Lincoln Park in Chicago. He de¬ 
cided to make casts from a horse’s legs, and for this 
purpose used a beautiful animal in his studio at Milton, 
where I saw the process of taking some of the plaster casts 
from the live horse’s legs. This was considered a great 


156 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

innovation at the time, so that Partridge was interviewed 
on the subject by the Boston papers. In whatever he 
undertook Partridge was essentially progressive, deeply 
humanitarian and with a mental grasp of world condi¬ 
tions. 

It was in The Twentieth Century Club that I learned 
to know Edwin D. Mead, one of the most unselfish ideal¬ 
ists among Boston reformers. Mr. Mead promptly an¬ 
nounced that we could not constitute a Twentieth Cen¬ 
tury Club unless we admitted women on equal terms with 
men. This policy of equal rights was unanimously 
adopted, and thereafter remained a special saving grace 
of the club. Mr. Mead was always at work on some 
altruistic reform; he incorporated that public spirit of 
Boston, which looked after its historic sites and pro¬ 
tected the precious Common from all predatory designs. 

Upon my advice an attempt was made to pattern the 
club constitution upon the Swiss federal constitution, 
vesting the executive power in a board of administration 
rather than in a single head. The members were very 
patient in making a trial of this to please me, but it did 
not work particularly well, proving too cumbersome for 
such a small organization. Eventually a President was 
elected, and Edwin D. Mead was that President, the busy 
man to whom we used to go when we wanted something 
done. Mr. Mead was incidentally also editor of the New 
England Magazine, in which I published an occasional 
article, among others one on St. Paul's School and an¬ 
other on Bonivard, the Prisoner of Chillon. Good Mr. 
Mead became a strong peace advocate, but when the out¬ 
break of the world war in the summer of 1914 destroyed 
his cherished plan of world peace his heart seemed to be 
broken and he retired from public activity. 

It is not too much to say that in the nineties of the 
expiring century Boston contained a group of men who 


LIVING IN BOSTON 


157 

felt the urgent necessity for great world changes to stave 
off world catastrophies which would be sure to follow a 
policy of mere laissez-faire. 

Such men suffer in a way which is quite incompre¬ 
hensible to those who are simply taking the world as 
they find it, and are making no efforts to change condi¬ 
tions because they are not sensitive enough to be aware 
of impending changes. I used to see much of William 
Lloyd Garrison, son of the abolitionist, himself a staunch 
unmovable forefighter for freedom in all directions, an 
ardent friend of Henry George, an undaunted free¬ 
trader. The Garrisons lived at that time in Brookline, 
in a very pleasant corner house on upper Beacon street, 
and many is the Sunday evening I had supper there 
followed by a wonderful inspiriting talk about the rights 
of man and woman, for we were all instinctively up¬ 
holders of the equal rights of women. Special privilege 
was the culprit which our reforms in all directions were 
designed to catch and destroy. Bellamy's book “Look¬ 
ing Backward” appeared about that time; it was dis¬ 
cussed everywhere and the attempt was even made to 
found powerful groups of thinkers upon its teachings, if 
not a great political party. The school of economic, 
social and political thought to which I belonged, how¬ 
ever, did not take “Looking Backward” as a book con¬ 
taining definite teachings, but merely as a wholesome 
awakener and were grateful that it could create a stir 
among the self satisfied who by it were persuaded to recog¬ 
nize that conditions as they were could not last indefi¬ 
nitely. 

The man who exercised the most influence upon my 
literary work was Hamlin Garland. He was a man of 
the West. I had never been further west than Chicago 
at the time of the World’s Fair in 1893. What he told 
me of the limitless prairie and the pioneer life of his 


158 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

own experience thrilled me with joy of being an Ameri¬ 
can. “Why, McCrackan, ,, he would say with an enthu¬ 
siastic look on his face, “this Atlantic Coast is a mere 
fringe, the real country lies out there,” and he pointed 
westward with a gesture which settled the matter. He 
gave me most substantial advice in portraying scenes 
and atmosphere with realism. He was profoundly im¬ 
pressive when he talked about the hardships and injus¬ 
tices on the great lands in the middle west and on the 
approaching changes which he foresaw must come if 
democracy was to survive in America. I remember one 
day standing for a few moments with Garland on the 
steps of my house in Boston after one of our customary 
discussions about the threatening conditions and saying 
to him, “What do you suppose will happen to us, you and 
me, when the great revolution comes?” 

Mr. Howells had at that time just issued his novel, “A 
Hazard of New Fortunes,” in which social unrest was 
pictured with powerful strokes. I do not recall Garland's 
answer, except that it was not very reassuring. 

It was Garland who first took me out to Dorchester 
to see James A. Herne, the actor and his wife and fam¬ 
ily. They too were friends of Henry George, students 
of Herbert Spencer and courageous investigators into 
social questions. Mr. Herne at that time was writing 
plays for the stage by which he desired to rouse the in¬ 
different from their apathy and by which, incidentally 
he lost about all the money he made from his more pop¬ 
ular plays, such as “Shore Acres.” Their three little girls 
were a delight, each one with an individuality which was 
allowed to unfold spontaneously like a flower. When 
asked what they were going to do when they grew up, 
they were always quite frank and sure of the future: 
Julie would say that she was going to write plays. Crys¬ 
tal was just as certain that she was going to be an actress. 


LIVING IN BOSTON 


159 

and Dorothy, the youngest, a sweet little tot of about 
four or five summers, who had heard her mother speak 
a great deal about theories of bringing up children, would 
announce that she was going to be a mother. So un¬ 
trammeled were these children that they had hardly any 
self! consciousness. 

I remember one occasion when Dorothy was seized 
with a sort of poetic fervor and asked to be heard by us 
all while she recited. She slipped down from her chair 
and looking off with a wrapt gaze spoke rhythmically 
for some time about birds and flowers and then demurely 
took her seat with an air of great satisfaction. The gen¬ 
eral conversation was then resumed by us and continued 
for a while, but soon Dorothy held up her hand and said, 
“I’ve got another one.” Her father expostulated a little, 
but Dorothy once more jumped down from her chair and 
recited in a poetic manner about butterflies and skies, 
but with a certain accentuation which satisfied her com¬ 
pletely. She resumed her seat and we supposed her 
poetic ardor gratified for the time, but presently she 
slipped down off her chair again and going to her father 
told him she had “another one.” This time he held up 
his hands in mock despair and a hearty laugh went the 
rounds which effectually closed the charming little in¬ 
cident. 

I well remember the first night of “Shore Acres” at 
the old Boston Museum. The play had been given suc¬ 
cessfully in Chicago, but there was some doubt as to 
whether the Boston public would appreciate it. Hamlin 
Garland’s brother Frank was in the cast, which added to 
the interest. All questions as to its success were com¬ 
pletely laid to rest when towards the end of the play 
something very convincing occurred. Mr. Herne, the 
faithful old man, heavy hearted with disappointment 
silently went about the kitchen fixing the range, putting 


160 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

out the lights and with slow steps mounting the stairs 
to his bed. It was considered rather a bold bit of acting 
to remain so long on the stage without uttering a word 
and not everyone could have held the audience spell 
bound as Mr. Herne did. At last in the midst of the 
deepest silence, as Mr. Herne was about to disappear into 
his room at the top of the stairs, a voice rang out from 
the topmost gallery, “Good night, old man.” There was 
such a genuine ring in this spontaneous call that we all 
felt it was certain beyond the question of dispute that the 
play was a success in Boston. 

I went behind the scenes into the historic green room 
of the Museum to offer my congratulations, this being 
the first time as far as I could remember that I had ever 
gone behind the scenes in any theatre. 

One of the scenic paintings in “Shore Acres” repre¬ 
sented a point of land with a light-house upon it, the 
artist having painted it on general principles and not 
from any specific point, but the effect, in connection with 
the superb acting, was intensely realistic. Mr. Herne 
told me that while he was playing “Shore Acres” in 
Boston a man once stopped him on Washington Street 
and asked him if he was not Mr. Herne. Upon being 
assured that this was the case, the stranger said he was 
from down East, and had seen the play. He told Mr. 
Herne it was absolutely true to life and then added, “J 
was born on that p’int you have in the scene.” 

The group of men in Boston who were my friends had 
the world outlook. They were driven by the desire to 
right wrongs for the world, but had no special personal 
grievances of their own, and their attitude was there¬ 
fore unselfish. Mr. Herne and his talented wife desired 
to use the stage in order to awaken the public to the need 
for reform. Hamlin Garland was hoping to reach sim¬ 
ilar results by his writings. He was all for giving litera- 


LIVING IN BOSTON 


161 

ture a true American ring and breaking the leading 
strings of the inherited literary traditions of the old 
school. He was greatly interested in Walt Whitman, 
and especially admired and personally loved Mr. Howells. 
I recall the time when Mr. B. O. Flower published the 
first of the stories of Hamlin Garland in The Arena, 
which later appeared in his volume entitled, “Main 
Traveled Roads.” The story was a sombre study of the 
desperate life on the prairie in pioneer days and was 
entitled “A Prairie Heroine.” 

My special function in this group of reformers seemed 
to be political reform. While I was still writing my his¬ 
tory of Switzerland, my brother-in-law Lawson Purdy, 
had called my attention to a leafflet or short pamphlet 
issued by one of the staunchest friends of Henry George, 
Dr. J. Montague Leverson, which dealt with such re¬ 
forms as the Referendum, the Initiative and Propor¬ 
tional Representation. This little reform essay stim¬ 
ulated my interest sufficiently to broaden my studies in 
Swiss institutions, for in that country I found these 
political procedures already in operation. In Boston I 
wrote and spoke frequently on the subject of the Refer¬ 
endum, so much so, in fact, that my friends teased me 
about it and called me Mr. Referendum. 

Among other addresses I recall one before the Round 
Table Club at the home of Roger Wolcott, Governor of 
Massachusetts, and another before the Labor Unions in 
Faneuil Hall. I also spoke at hearings in the State 
House. There was at first very little popular informa¬ 
tion on the subject the name Referendum was quite 
strange, and it was generally objected that the experience 
of little Switzerland could have little value for our great 
Republic. A Boston newspaper sent a reporter to inter¬ 
view me on the subject of the Referendum, but my dis¬ 
appointment was keen when after I had talked to him for 


162 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

some time about Switzerland and its ways, he asked me 
whether Switzerland and Sweden were not the same. 

I spent one summer at Boxford, Massachusetts, on 
the farm of a Mr. Fowler, the stepfather of Eva Mariotti,, 
who had come to the United States with her husband Leo 
Mariotti, the painter, and their little son Guido. Mr. 
Fowler had a remarkably history and was a remarkable 
man. Himself a Yankee and of Yankee ancestry, he 
had gone South before the Civil War, and had built up 
a great drygoods business in New Orleans, making yearly 
trips up the Arkansas River into the Indian country, and 
frequent trips to Paris to replenish his stock. When the 
Civil War broke out loyalty to the land which had given 
him his wealth, caused him to cast in his fortunes with 
the South. It was thrilling to hear him tell of his block¬ 
ade running experiences, for he fitted out a vessel in 
England and ran her into Galveston after a series of 
mishaps which would have deterred any less resolute 
man. 

Mr. Fowler had been ruined by the Civil War and had 
returned to the old homestead in Boxford in his advanc¬ 
ing years to try to eke out a living from the ancestral 
farm. A volume might be written around his extra¬ 
ordinary career. Leo Mariotti, fresh from Rome in this 
strictly New England atmosphere was a singular figure. 
Of a most lovable and joyous nature, he promptly started 
to paint the Merrimac at Lawrence and Haverhill and 
the autumn foliage of New England with a fervor which 
was deeply interesting. The Mariottis, however, found 
the American experiment somewhat disappointing, and 
not long afterward returned to Italy, Mr. Fowler him¬ 
self succumbing suddenly after a strenuous summer on 
the farm. His capacity for physical labor transcended 
anything I have ever seen of the kind. 


CHAPTER XII 

Living in New York. 

In 1894 I left Boston for New York, where several 
members of my family were residing. In the same apart¬ 
ment hotel with my mother lived Mrs. Jefferson Davis 
and her daughter Winnie, the daughter of the Confed¬ 
eracy, as she was popularly called. Mrs. Davis and her 
daughter enjoyed the harp musical which my mother de¬ 
lighted to give. Before the Civil War and shortly after 
her marriage to my father my mother had visited Wash¬ 
ington and formed the acquaintance of the Jefferson 
Davises, my father at that time being granted the cour¬ 
tesy of a presentation to the United States Supreme 
Court in his capacity as a lawyer from the wonderland 
of California. 

In New York I was in closer touch with Henry 
George and his family than had been possible when I 
lived in Boston. Henry George, Jr. valiantly seconded 
his father’s reform labor and in after years went to Con¬ 
gress; Richard George was a sculptor who successfully 
reproduced his father’s head and features in bust and 
medallion. The great election of 1897, when the can¬ 
didacy of Henry George for Mayor of New York stirred 
the city to its depths and his sudden death occurred on 
the eve of the election, was a dramatic incident of those 
days the true meaning of which still remains to be made 
clear to the world. When Father McGlynn began his 
funeral oration over his departed friend with the words, 
“There was a man sent from God and his name was 
Henry George,” New York was shaken to its founda¬ 
tions, and the priest’s public career was brought to an 
abrupt close. Henry George’s public funeral was an 
amazing moment in the history of New York. My own 
share in this city election was this: I spoke once in the 
163 


164 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

cart-tail campaign on a corner of Amsterdam Avenue 
above 125th Street, and on election day itself watched 
with others at one of the local courts to see that if our 
voters were brought before the judge they would get a 
hearing and obtain justice. On October 31st, 1899, I 
addressed a memorial service to Henry George in the 
smaller auditorium of the Carnegie Building. When 
the election once more authorized Tammany to govern 
New York a veritable orgy ensued such as the city had 
rarely seen; the lower forces felt themselves triumphant 
and publicly defied those of good government. 

This and similar experiences were disappointments in 
my life. My financial circumstances were satisfactory 
and I lacked nothing, my personal wants not being exact¬ 
ing, and I had only to forget about world problems in 
order to live a life of ease. It was my habit to keep well 
posted in regard to world events in many parts of the 
globe. Therefore I could not rest, the present seemed 
full of world injustice, the future bristling with dangers 
to all mankind. 

I found some relaxation from these cares for the 
world by several trips to Europe, which were always sure 
to take me to some portion of the Alps. It became my 
ambition to write further books to cover by degrees the 
whole of the Alpine chain, the backbone of Europe. Out 
of this desire sprang my notes on Tyrol and the Italian 
Lakes which were later put into book form. I also 
journeyed eastward into Syria and Carinthia, to Vienna 
and as far east as Buda Pesth. I also visited my aunts 
at Wiesbaden and when they had definitely settled down 
in Baden Baden on the edge of the Black Farest I con¬ 
nected my visit there with a tramping tour through that 
district. On one occasion I was invited by a group of 
German reformers who corresponded in a general way to 
the ‘‘Single Taxers” of this United States to make an 


LIVING IN NEW YORK 


165 

address in Berlin on Henry George. This I did in Ger¬ 
man with great gladness in my heart to honor the mem¬ 
ory of the man who up to that time had taught me the 
highest truth which I had yet received. I was not greatly 
attracted by the German thinkers whom I met on that 
occasion and promptly returned to Wiesbaden. 

On another occasion finding myself at Besanqon in 
France I recalled an invitation extended to me by two 
French officers to visit them whenever I traveled in their 
country. I had met them on board ship going to America 
to visit their relatives in St. Louis, for their mother was 
an American. They were the Comte de Nouye and his 
brother. The Count was a captain in the artillery and 
his brother a lieutenant in the infantry. When we 
reached New York I did my best to entertain them for a 
few days until they left for the West. I recall their aston¬ 
ishment at the great buildings, but also at the dirty 
streets. They could not understand that so rich a city 
should look so ill kept. 

My return visit in France found the Count stationed 
at Nancy and his brother at Toul. These places were 
even then, in the nineties of the last century, armed 
centres maintained at a high rate of preparation for in¬ 
stant defence against German aggression. These two 
officers showed me what it was proper for me to see of 
the general preparations, so that when the Great World 
War of 1914 broke out suddenly I was in position to 
realize somewhat the military measure which had been 
taken. 

At this same time I made a trip to nearby Domremy, 
the village birthplace of Jeanne d’Arc. The day was 
bright and sunny, the fields alive with wild flowers as 
I walked from the station to the village, so that the pic¬ 
ture of the charming Lorraine country, the smoothly 
flowing stream, the gentle rise of the ground back of the 


166 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

village and the quaint little place linger still in my 
thought. I was not spiritually equipped in those days to 
understand the career of that noble girl, so that my at¬ 
tempted explanation of her experiences in “Little Idyls 
of a Big World” no longer represents my views to-day 
concerning her spiritual experiences. 

In preparing for my studies on “Fair Land Tyrol” I 
penetrated into a district on the frontier between Austria 
and Italy, at that time very little known because entirely 
off the beaten track, but since made famous by tremen¬ 
dous battles between the Italians and Austrians in the 
world war—namely, The Sette Comuni in Northern Italy 
where the village of Asiago is situated. Professor Albert 
Bushnell Hart of Harvard University, himself a great 
lover of Tyrol and familiar with my studies in Swiss 
history, advised me to include the Sette Comuni in my 
trip to Tyrol. As far as I could ascertain he and my¬ 
self were among the first Americans who ever journeyed 
through that interesting region. On that trip I also climbed 
my highest snow mountain, the highest in Tyrol, the 
Ortler over 12,000 feet high. My acquaintance with 
Prof. Hart, though our meetings were never more than 
occasional, was an encouragement to me when working 
in Boston against heavy odds of conservatism. He in¬ 
vited me on one occasion to lecture to a post graduate 
class at Harvard University on certain periods of Swiss 
history. These two lectures or rather talks to students 
I remember as great treats, for I was so full of my sub¬ 
ject that I felt I could talk on indefinitely. Prof. Hart 
sat in the lecture room and seemed to enjoy the occasion 
with me. In later years he twice introduced me when I 
again lectured on Christian Science to the students at 
Harvard University. 

Among my literary and lecturing activities let me 
mention the following: In 1891 I wrote a number of 


LIVING IN NEW YORK 167 

articles for the New York Evening Post. On February 
7th, 1893, I had the pleasure of giving the boys of St. 
Paul’s School a little talk on Switzerland in the rectory 
upon the invitation of Dr. Henry A, Coit. On February 
13th, 1894, I lectured on a Swiss subject at Trinity Col¬ 
lege and at St. Margaret’s School in Waterbury, where 
my brother John was teaching at the time. In 1895 I 
wrote an article on “Swiss Soldiers” for Youth’s Com¬ 
panion. In 1896 I began to lecture in the course of Free 
Lectures to the people for the Board of Education of the 
City of New York. This work took me to all parts of 
the great city, north, south, east and west, making me 
thoroughly familiar with all its different aspects and sup¬ 
plying me with much of the local color which cropped 
up in certain poems, which appear in this book. I con¬ 
tinued in this work for four years until the spring of 
1900. 

In 1897 I printed a special edition of “Swiss Solu¬ 
tions of American Problems” for the National Woman’s 
Sufferage organization which used the pamphlet as a text¬ 
book for a while. 

The closing years of the nineteenth century were sig¬ 
nalized for me by one disappointment after another. As 
President of the Manhattan Single Tax Club I was forced 
to recognize that the world was not ready to listen to 
this reform, so that instead of gaining in popular estima¬ 
tion it was at a standstill, or even receding. The rise of 
William J. Bryan at one time led me to hope that he 
would prove to be the prophet leader who was needed, 
now that Henry George had died. I met Mr. Bryan at 
the home of his friend, Willis J. Abbot in New York, 
who occupied an apartment in the same house as the 
Purdys on 59th Street. He was eating his dinner at the 
time, being very much pressed, as he was to deliver his 
great speech in Madison Square Garden that night. All 


168 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

I saw of Bryan at first was his great head and shoulders 
bending over the table as he sat eating his roast beef. 
When he turned to face me the kindly power in his face 
was manifest, the great jaw and unusually big mouth be¬ 
ing especially noticeable. In after years I heard Mr. 
Bryan speak and had a conversation with him in Wash¬ 
ington in November, 1914, when he was Secretary of 
State. 

At the time of which I speak, the Spanish war obliged 
me to readjust my hopes in regard to social, political and 
economic settlements. I myself was eager to take some 
part in the war, but did not apply, as enlistments were 
greatly restricted on account of the smallness of the forces 
which were needed, so I put the matter out of my mind 
having had no military experience whatever. 

In the midst of this national struggle I was haunted 
by the desire to express myself in verse. From 1898 to 
1900 surging power took possession of me to break fet¬ 
ters, to express the American idea of liberty, to laugh 
at the limited notions of the world, to touch on redemp¬ 
tive hopes. I seized upon the common objects and situa¬ 
tions I saw about me in New York and visualized them 
in verse, sometimes with humor and sometimes with the 
stroke of the hammer. The whole life of the great city 
took on the amusing aspect of a stage world, of an un¬ 
reality which thought itself real. The skyscrapers, the 
Brooklyn Bridge, Broadway, the Hudson, the ferryboats, 
the stock exchange, etc., all spoke to me in their own lan¬ 
guage. They became living things, as though they talked 
and confided to me their secrets. 

Many phases of city life which I had never noticed 
before appealed to me. There was often as I wrote a 
certain powerful pounding sensation of verse as though 
my words were demolishing the old and letting in the 
new. The lines of verse often came to me like great 


LIVING IN NEW YORK 


169 

strokes battering down opposition. This was especially 
the case in the poems called “The Glad Hand” and “The 
Men of the West” which literally seemed to fell before 
them in my own consciousness prejudices of the old 
world. “The Men of the West” was not published until 
twenty years after in the Chicago papers, on the occasion 
of an address I delivered there in behalf of the Fourth 
Liberty Loan. There did not fail also, notes of tender¬ 
ness and spiritual exaltation in my verse, but the uncom¬ 
promising directness in them was probably most pro¬ 
nounced. 

When I had collected a goodly number I showed them 
to Hamlin Garland, who urged me to go on, feeling that 
I had struck a new note, and wrote me, “My Dear Mc- 
Crackan: I think you’ve hit upon something characteris¬ 
tic in these Glad Hand verses,—‘Stock Exchange/ 
‘Towers of Trade’ and the like, where the half-serious, 
half jocular note of American brag comes out. ‘Jobs’ 
is another quaint notion. I think a book very original 
—full of American humor and irreverence,—can come 
out of this vein you are working. Keep jotting them 
down and then work them over carefully—not too care¬ 
fully—to preserve the curious quality they now have 
and you’ll make a hit. Yours as ever, Hamlin Garland, 
Jan. 29/1900.” 

At this time also I wrote a short novel, dealing with 
the New York of the nineties of the last century and 
bringing out especially the conflict which raged around 
Henry George and his reform movement. This novel I 
never published. 

During these soul-agitated years I became for a time 
a contributor to a New York weekly, called The Criterion, 
in which I expressed my pronounced opinions in a way 
to stir the complacent public, if it read what I wrote. 

Since the appearance of my history of Switzerland I 


170 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

had been a member of the American Historical Associa¬ 
tion, then in 1895 I became a member of the Authors’ 
Club in New York which has delightful rooms in the 
Carnegie Building at Seventh Avenue and 56th Street. 
There it was that I learned to know Bronson Howard, the 
playwright, one of the founders of the club and one of 
its most genial members, Professor Boyesen of Columbia 
College, Edward Eggleston, Edmund Clarence Stedman, 
the banker-poet, Professor Giddings of Columbia Col¬ 
lege, Will N. Harben, Rossitor Johnson, Oscar S. Straus, 
former ambassador to Turkey, Stephen Henry Thayer, 
Calvin Thomas of Columbia College, and our own greatly 
beloved Henry Van Dyke. My former college mate at 
Trinity, Edward S. VanZile had proposed me for the 
club. For a term I acted as chairman of the House 
Committee making all arrangements for the weekly sup¬ 
pers and generally familiarizing myself with the tastes 
and desires of the members. Some pleasant hours were 
spent and many interesting acquaintances were made in 
The Authors’ Club. 

I remember especially one evening when Mr. Howells 
came to a meeting which the Club had called to consider 
Zola’s splendid defence of Dreyfus. Joseph Jefferson 
also dropped in occasionally. I heard him tell an anec¬ 
dote one evening concerning a certain dramatic paper in 
old New York. This paper, he said, led a precarious 
existence and occasionally suspended publication for 
months at a time without any explanation being offered 
to its subscribers. But once this paper ceased to appear 
for a whole year and when it reappeared the need of 
some sort of an explanation was obvious. The editor 
therefore stated, “A year ago we suspended publication 
for want of funds, and now we resume publication for 
the same reason.” 

Another evening comes to my mind when Du Mau- 
rier’s “Trilby” was the sensation of the day, and a group 


LIVING IN NEW YORK 171 

of friends sat late into the morning hours discussing this 
novel with my friend William Ordway Partridge as the 
central figure, who was very insistent that the book was 
ephemeral, without permanent value. 

I am grateful to the Authors' Club for many kindly 
hospitable gatherings. It has furnished a great number 
of ambassadors and ministers from the United States 
to foreign countries, and has entertained many noted 
men of letters and diplomats who have visited New York. 
My services on the House Committee were gladly ren¬ 
dered. 

These fin de sidcle experiences in New York were 
suddenly broken by dstressing news from abroad. A 
cable from Baden Baden announced that my Aunt Lottie 
had suddenly died there and that my Aunt Mary was 
dangerously ill. The ever faithful Nellie Simpkin had 
hurried from Interlaken to their bedsides and promptly 
notified us of the conditions. It was at once agreed that 
my sister and I should take the next steamer in order to 
reach Baden Baden at the earliest possible moment. We 
sailed on the fastest steamer available, and were actually 
in Baden Baden within a week from the date of leaving 
New York. 

Aunt Mary was still living and recovering under 
lovable care and good nursing. It devolved upon me to 
carry out the necessary formalities connected with the 
death of Aunt Lottie and to bury the remains side by side 
with those of grandmother McCrackan in the cemetery 
at Bern, Switzerland. Shortly after I returned to 
America leaving my brother John, who came from his 
pastorate in Munich to take charge of Aunt Mary. 

As I neared the shores of my own land again I was 
conscious of entering upon a new chapter in my life. In 
some sort of way the old had been left behind, therefore 
I was ready for a great change which I dimly appre¬ 
hended would be fundamental and satisfying. What 


172 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

would it be? I knew not exactly but I was certain it 
would point the way to some universal remedy for the 
world’s woes and I was ready to listen and obey the call 
when it came. 

As the steamer entered New York harbor the thought 
of that first home-coming in 1878 came to mind. There 
was the Statue of Liberty, now fully equipped upon its 
great pedestal, the sign and symbol of the new world. 
Yes, the new solution which I forefelt rather than fore¬ 
saw would be symbolized by the Statue of Liberty En¬ 
lightening the World, it would bring a complete liberty. 
If it was what I hoped it would be, it would deliver 
from every manner of injustice and tyranny; it would 
be universally applicable and universally available, and 
it would liberate woman as well as man and prove the 
protector of little children. Great expectation arose in 
my thought, great promptings of love thronged into my 
heart. It was here in America that the world solution 
would be found, in this new land of few traditions and 
fewer settled habits of the past, unhampered by too much 
precedent, vigorous, fresh, spontaneous and ready to try 
all things and see whether they be good. Liberty I felt 
would break the crust of materiality; the atmosphere 
of freedom would purify all endeavors and pervade every 
activity with a wholesome joy; the only necessity would 
be that of being happy in obedience to truth which would 
render man prosperous, alert, keen of perception, able to 
master all obstacles, victorious and merry, with fearless¬ 
ness. 

As I saw New York Harbor that day, the sky-scrapers 
reared their heads along the water front. Before I 
finished with the custom house the afternoon was settling 
upon the city. The monster buildings were ablaze with 
electric lights, for the business men had not yet gone 
home. Only the outlines of the buildings stood out 
against the sky, wherein the lights were blinking and 


LIVING IN NEW YORK 173 

twinkling. Every now and then an elevator shot up or 
down in the half darkness, like a comet. The cool air 
drew a smell of salt from the water. Sea gulls rested 
on the breeze, or swooped down on the tide line. These 
birds were like white symbols of the coming night. 
Sloops, lighters, steamboats and ferry-boats crossed and 
recrossed. Deep, booming whistles sounded through the 
gathering shadows of dusk. 

Not Babylon with her hanging gardens, not Rome in 
her psychological moment of empire, nor Venice in the 
day of her Asiatic commerce, could have looked more 
fantastic and fanciful than this cut-and-dried, matter-of- 
fact New York looked that late afternoon. For a coun¬ 
terpart it would have been necessary to ransack fairy¬ 
land, and like fairyland itself, the sky-scrapers would 
have been found to be the result of a flight of the imagina¬ 
tion. They were towers of trade, erected by a superb 
American courage. They were shells apparently with¬ 
out souls, but mind conceived them before they were 
built. If unseen mind could perform these material mar¬ 
vels, then great reforms, reposing upon unseen liberty, 
on loving kindness, friendship, compassion, on the un¬ 
seen qualities of eternal good, could rear a new edifice, 
a new city or state, a new world. 

The old nineteenth century was waning, the new 
one was dawning. 


CHAPTER XIII 

Poems. 

Written at various times between 1898 and 1900. 
THE GLAD HAND. 

(Appeared in Everybody’s Magazine April, 1919.) 

Here’s to the man in the engine-room! 

And here’s to the toiling masses! 

Here’s to the girl at the kitchen range! 

And here’s to the lower classes! 

My hand to the waiting longshoreman, 

To the dripping, cursing crew, 

To the clinking, clanking ferryman, 

To the Gentile and the Jew. 

Heh to the gripman! Heh to the guard! 

Heh to the cop on his beat! 

The laboring man who digs the trench! 

And him who sweeps the street! 

Here’s to the farmhand hoeing the corn! 

The miner sinking the shaft! 

Here’s to the housesmiths pounding the sky 
And here’s to the latest craft! 

An “If you please” and a kind “Good day” 

To the girl who sells in the store. 

Good cheer to her who serves me at lunch, 

And to her who scrubs the floor. 

My thanks to all who watch at night, 

Or work on Sundays, too. 

And you, the women who cook their meals, 

My heart goes out to you. 

Here’s to the poor in the sweating shops! 

Here’s to their stifling nights! 

Here’s to those whom greed has robbed! 

Here’s to their getting their rights! 

Here’s to my brother, the broken bum! 

And here’s to the girl gone wrong! 

And here’s to all the refuse of men, 

The miserable, destitue throng! 

174 


POEMS 


175 


For they who hunger and thirst shall know 
The Lord of creation and birth. 

So here’s my hand to the common men, 

For they shall inherit the earth. 

THE MEN OF THE WEST. 

The men of the West come galloping down to the sea, 
To rattle the decadent East with the whoop of the free, 
They come from the Rockies and prairies, they come 
from the Lakes, 

To trample the tyrants and whip political fakes. 

So here’s to the men of the West who are fresh from the 
sod! 

They know they are right, for they sit in the saddle of 
God. 

I hear them a-riding along to quicken the race, 

To bring the nation to flower, and liven the pace, 

To weld the peoples in one and bury the dead, 

To save the white and the black, the yellow and red. 

Hail! pioneers, that are picked in the struggle for life, 
We have waited for you to begin,—so now to the strife. 
And here’s to the men of the West who are fresh from the 
sod! 

They know they are right, for they sit in the saddle of 
God! 

FATHER MOUNTAIN, MOTHER EARTH. 

Father Mountain, Father Mountain! 

What’s that you see on high? 

My child, I see your Mother Earth, 

Your Mother Earth see I. 

Father Mountain, Father Mountain! 

What’s that you hear on high? 

My child, I hear your Mother Earth, 

I hear her sob and sigh: 

The children of men are at war again; nor will they 
understand. 

They fight each other for standing room. They waste 
their common land. 


176 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

She sheds her pitying tears for all in many soothing rains; 

The water courses seam her sides, but men destroy the 
plains. 

Father Mountain, Father Mountain! 

What’s that you taste on high ? 

My child, I taste her tears of salt, 

Because her children die: 

Her lilac levels teem with wealth; a million flowers bloom; 

The pools, like jewels, stud her folds,—yet men will fight 
for room. 

The clouds must trail their shadows still, and tree lines 
hide her scars,— 

Though gold and diamonds lie beneath, and up above the 
stars. 

Father Mountain, Father Mountain! 

What’s that you feel on high ? 

My child, I feel your Mother Earth 

Grow cold and hard and dry: 

She blames the foolish children of men, her bounty is 
meant for all, 

But the greedy have sworn to take their fill, so the poor 
and weak must fall. 

She fain would teach them justice first, then bid them do 
the right. 

—God grant them perfect brotherhood, and eyes to see 
the Light. 


BROADWAY. 

Way down in Bowling Green 
I learn to toe the mark, 

I dip my feet in the bay 
And lose my head in the Park. 

Good-bye, O quiet spot! 

So ’long, O smell of salt! 

I shan’t get any rest 
Till Harlem calls a halt. 

Ah, why am I a street 
Where people buy and sell ? 


POEMS 


177 


I want to be a road 
And with the Hayseeds dwell! 

Move up forward, 

Hear the gong, 

Step up lively, 

Push along. 

At first I’m just a canon 
Where buildings fence me in, 
They’re mostly bare outside 
But full of gold within. 

I reach a spire and street 
And watch their little games. 
It’s Trinity Church and Wall 
That call each other names. 

Move up forward, 

Hear the gong, 

Step up lively, 

Push along. 

I pass the City Hall, 

My bones begin to crack; 

For lines of trolley cars 
Crop up and down my back. 

If I am very good 

And bear my heavy load, 

When I get out of town 
I’ll be a country road. 

Then come hotels and shows, 
Apartments by the Park 
Where all the rooms are light, 
But most of them are dark. 

Ah, why am I a street ? 

My heart for nature sighs, 

I want to be a road 
And feel the open skies. 

I want to see the trees, 

To hear the birdies sing, 

I want to smell the grass 
And make the forest ring. 


178 


AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 


If I am very good 
And bear my heavy load, 

Perhaps I’ll go to heaven 
And be a country road. 

(Appeared in Everybody's Magazine, May, 1919.) 

THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE. 

Manhattan; That’s the song I sing, 

And Brooklyn hears my voice, 

For I’m the span that makes them one, 

The biggest bridge that’s under the sun. 

I’m hung all over with harness of steel, 

My shoulders are strapped to the ground. 

My belt is buckled and tightly laced, 

I’ve hardy room to breathe at the waist. 

The tide of the sea flows down below, 

The tide of man above. 

Ah! shuffling feet and anxious eyes, 

For many will fall while some may rise. 

A street and a stair, strung up in the air, 

And none to shake them down. 

With one foot here, I’m watch and ward; 

And one foot there, I straddle the ford. 

The boats of the Sound crawl underneath, 
The proudest men-o-war. 

I taste their smoke and feel their throb, 

I hear them rumble and hear them sob. 

The ferryboats look like waterbugs, 

The trollies hum like bees. 

The cable is pounding between the rails 
That carry the crowd and carry the mails. 

At last the night comes up from the east, 

And silver lights the bay. 

The crowd will rush, and some will fall. 

And I’m the one to carry them all. 

Then hail to the cities on either hand! 

Flying their flags of steam, 


POEMS 


179 


For I’m the span that makes them one, 

The biggest bridge that’s under the sun. 

LADY LIBERTY. 

The sea-gulls are my only friends, 

They brush my cheek and peck my hand. 

And nothing that I do offends, 

For somehow they can understand. 

By day I’m made to raise my arm, 

At night I’m told to wave a star. 

I watch the sea for signs of harm, 

To light the ships across the bar. 

But bless the fog from up the Sound! 
When no one’s looking, then I dance. 

The sea-gulls shriek and soar around, 

And then I know I’m “Made in France!” 

THE FERRYBOAT. 

Now come, Suburbanites! 

And fill my bulging sides. 

We’ll scrunch the thickest ice, 

And plow the strongest tides. 

I’m big and broad and squat, 

A floating house on wheels, 

A sea-saw beam on top, 

A churning pair of heels. 

My middle is meant for trucks, 

My sides for “Ladies” and “Gents.” 
Lest people should want to drown, 

I keep an accordeon fence. 

The pilot pulls the string, 

And gives a joyful toot. 

My voice is like a bull, 

When other boats salute. 

Then, when I reach the slip, 

Don’t run and think you’re late, 

But keep your hands and feet 
Off that accordeon gate. 


AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

I strike the squeaking boards, 

Look out for the usual bump! 

A rattle of chains is heard, 

And you’re off with a skip and a jump. 

THE HUDSON. 

I rise in the Adirondacks, 

With a whoop to wake the dead, 

Way up in “The Tear of the Clouds.” 

I tumble out of my bed. 

With here a swirl, 

And there a swish, 

I’m American-born, 

And I do as I wish. 

I’m going south to be married, 

Way down in the arms of the Sea, 

I’m a tumbling girl of the mountains, 

But a stately bride to be. 

The shores stretch out their hands, 

The hills stoop down to meet, 

I dodge and skurry along 
The rising tide to greet. 

With here a push, 

And there a squeeze, 

I’m American born, 

And I do as I please. 

So these are the slow canals, 

And that the city of Troy, 

You funny flotillas of grain, 

Ho heh there! Ship ahoy. 

I’ll take you on my breast, 

You come through Lake Champlain, 

I’ll touch the great North West, 

And you shall make the chain. 

And you, O Catskill Mountains, 

O Mountains of the Skies, 

Spread out your orange sunsets 
Where Rip Van Winkle lies. 


POEMS 


181 


I pass the battles of Indians, 

I pass the names of the Dutch, 

But it isn’t the things of the past 
I’m thinking about so much: 

For Pm going south to be married, 

Way down in the arms of the Sea, 

I may be a tumbling torrent, 

But a stately river to be. 

I break the nets, 

I scatter the fish, 

I'm American born 
And I do as I wish! 

Good-bye, O Palisades! 

So ’long your basalt sides! 

And ho to little Alpine! 

Way up above the tides. 

Farewell, great tomb of Grant! 

Farewell Columbia College! 

For life must conquer death, 

And love is better than knowledge. 

Between the summer and winter, 

Between the heat and cold, 

Between the green and white, 

Are the bridal days of gold! 

I rose in the Adirondacks, 

A mountain was my nurse, 

And now I’m the Bride of the Sea, 

For better or for worse! 

THE WEDDING. 

The day that the Hudson girl married the Sea, 
A flock of us gulls flew ahead in the spray. 
We scattered the sea-weed over the route; 

And shooed all the tugs and the lighters away. 

The wedding was held on a marvellous scale; 

For Liberty promised to act as the maid, 

The span of the Brooklyn Bridge was to bless, 
And make all the forts of the bay serenade. 


182 


AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 


The boroughs she called to be witnesses all, 

And thousands of ships to be full of her whims, 
The custom house clerk to take the big fee, 

And all of us gulls to sing the old hymns. 

So now we don’t care if we travel by day, 

Or wait on the water asleep in the night. 

We’ll follow the tide line, go where it may, 

And balance our wings in the great solar light. 

THE SKYSCRAPER 

My bones are steel, 

My skin is stone, 

Manhattan! Manhattan! 

An earthquake alone 
Can make me reel, 

Manhattan! Manhattan! 

My belt is a cornice bold, 

I’m a giant in height and girth 
I’m whooping, howling monument, 

The Biggest Thing on earth. 

By ferry, L, and car, 

They come by land and sea, 

And I tuck them all away somewhere 
In the marble inside of me. 

Up town is Central Park, 

And north the Palisades, 

To east and west the sweating shops, 

In the middle the various trades. 

My feet are rock, 

I scrape the sky, 

Manhattan! Manhattan! 

I’m proud to be called 
A chip o’ thy block, 

Manhattan! Manhattan! 

We’re a motley lot of tops, 

With towers doing stunts, 

We’ve sunk the churches out of sight 
And lost the brownstone front. 


POEMS 


183 


We darken the streets below; 

We make a draught between, 

The little buildings crane their necks, 

In hopes of being seen! 

Our dues are a million dollars, 

Which only a few can pay. 

We vote them in for a thousand years, 
And rest on Labor day. 

My belt is a cornice bold, 

I’m a giant in height and girth, 

I’m a whooping, howling monument, 

The Biggest Thing on earth. 

GREATER NEW YORK 

Watch me whip the world! 

See me shoot the stars! 

Fd like to reach up just for fun 
And place a mortgage on the sun! 

Biggest show on earth— 

Careful not to brag— 

And if I seem a little proud, 

It’s 'cause I draw the largest crowd. 

Love to pat myself, 

Love to throw bouquets. 

I’m tons of this and miles of that, 

With politics to fry the fat! 

Got an awful thirst— 

Need a watershed. 

It takes a million quarts of milk 
To keep my babies fine as silk. 

Chuck the biggest bluff, 

Wear the biggest hat. 

For half the time I'm drunk with pride, 
The other half I’m open wide! 

Churches by the bunch, 

Money-bags to burn, 

With charities to lend a hand 
And colleges to beat the band! 


184 


AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 


Only place for art, 

Literary shop, 

With bric-a-brac in every home, 

And gilt galore on every dome! 

Leading seaboard town! 

Great Me-Tro-Po-Lis! 

Because Pve got the fattest purse, 

I hope to run the universe. 

Lots of bonded debt, 

Lots of gold to lend. 

My banks are always safe and sound, 
While bullion bricks are carted round! 

Then whoop it up for me! 

And bring your savings here! 

Invest your pennies, nickels, dimes, 

A million, billion, trillion times! 

TOWERS OF TRADE 

Towers of trade! Towers of trade! 

The men who built you were not afraid! 

Skeleton-steel flung up to the stars, 
Marvels to men in the planet Mars! 

Art and luxury trained to towers, 
Hanging gardens with iron flowers! 

Block on block and bridge on end, 
Trestle and terrace none can bend. 

Dragon crest and hissing tongue! 
Business head and brazen lung! 

Puffing smoke in the face of heaven, 
Open at six and dark at seven. 

Lonely nights and hustling days, 

Fog and snow and summer haze, 

First to greet the rising sun, 

Last to see the day’s work done. 

Ah! needles and pins sticking the sky! 
The greed of men drives you so high! 


POEMS 


185 


As standing room grows less below, 

You stretch up slim and learn to grow. 

So trees on sunless mountain grade 
Compete and strain to leave the shade. 

THE FIRE-PROOF BUILDING 

I’m a Life Insurance Building; 

And sixteen stories high; 

My style Italian renaissance,— 

I don’t know exactly why. 

I’m of modern steel construction, 

And built for fireproof. 

I must be worth a million or two, 

From basement floor to roof. 

To-day I’m black in the face! 

To-day an object of pity! 

But awfully proud I saved the block, 

And maybe I saved the city. 

Those five low floors next door, 

That hardly came up to my knees 
That mean little box of matches on fire, 

It poured its flame on me! 

I waved my plume of steam! 

I stood my ground like a man! 

But the flames shot up my central shaft, 

And the crackle and roar began! 

I spat the sparks to the stars! 

A torch for Greater New York,— 

For the driven flames were licking their food 
With blast and sheet and fork. 

They lighted the crowd to the show, 

I heard the jeers of joy! 

The firemen worked with nozzle and hose, 

To save what they couldn’t destroy. 

The firemen worked with a will, 

But do what they could to my top, 


186 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

My beautiful balcony crumbled away, 

My loggia's ready to drop. 

The smoke has put out my eyes, 

I’ve reached the end of my ditty. 

But I’m awfully glad I saved the block, 

And maybe I saved the city. 

THE STOCK EXCHANGE 

A china shop for hulls! 

A pit for dancing hears! 

A pen for shearing sheep! 

A market-place for shares! 

Telephone up to the firm for advice, 

Jump at your man and give him a price, 
Quiver with hope and tremble with fear, 

Hold up a finger and howl in his ear. 

Toss in a fortune and watch for a chance, 
Prance like an Indian, cut up a dance, 
Scramble and scream and keep up the pace, 
Weak in the knees and red in the face. 

Put a silk hat on the back of your head, 
Shout with the others, hear what is said. 
“Messenger, here, as quick as you can!” 
“Telegram, please, for that rich Mister Man.” 

They’re selling the things they haven’t yet got 
And buying of others what others have not, 
The women are spending the money up town, 
The turn of a ticker will get a new gown. 

Papers and letters and blanks everywhere, 
Tear them in pieces, fill up the air, 

Make a big blizzard, driving with rage, 

Make a big snow as they do on the stage. 

Come to this amateur circus of clowns, 

See how the maelstrom sucks up and drowns. 
Hear how the howling Dervishes sing, 

Pay your respects here, where Paper is King. 

Crazy-quilt chaos and cock-fight in one! 
Raving and Ranting, business and fun! 


POEMS 


187 


When they get through, no money was spent, 

For what did they do ? Why, they borrowed and lent. 

A china shop for hulls! 

A pit for dancing hears! 

A pen for shearing sheep! 

A market-place for shares! 

SPRING IN THE PARK 

I seen the spring in the park! 

I seen it come for fair! 

The boids is gettin' gay, 

The squirrels losin' hair. 

The woollies is eatin' the lawn, 

The fattest whatever I seed, 

And every mother among 'em 
Has a cute little sucker to feed. 

I seen a cop and a jay 
What swiped a bud from a tree. 

Keep off the grass, it is soft, 

But the asphalt walk, it is free. 

The lion is walkin' his cage, 

And roarin’ to bust of a lung. 

The deers is a peelin' their horns, 

The polar bear’s a hangin’ his tongue 

They’re fixin’ the Lover's Walk. 

The carrousel is grindin' a tune, 

And each little goil is willin' 'to bet, 

That she'll be the May Queen soon! 

THE TRAMP IN UNION SQUARE 

I felt the Sodom side of the town; 

Where men take bribes aind women go down, 

It made me sadder, older and grey, 

I tell you, I've suffered the horrors to-day. 

I met a tramp and studied the type, 

I called him brother, and filled his pipe, 

He told me his troubles and showed me the way 
To face and master my devils to-day. 


188 


AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 


I struck a match and gave him a light ; 

He won't have to sleep in the park to-night. 

I went up town, and my heart was gay; 

For the tramp had shooed my horrors away. 

JOBS 

The Reporter. 

Somebody's married to-day. 

Sorry I can’t take “no,” 

I’ve got to look at the presents upstairs. 

And write up the bridal trousseau. 

Must make a living, you know. 

Somebody’s died in this house, 

Sorry I can’t take “no,” 

I’ve got to feel of the family pulse. 

An feature the chamber of woe. 

Must make a living, you know. 

Baby was born in the night. 

Sorry 1 can’t take “no,” 

I’ve got to call on the lady at once. 

And hear how the infant do crow. 

Must make a living, you know. 

Somebody’s gone to the dogs, 

Sorry I can’t take “no,” 

I’ve got to get at the actual facts, 

Or make up the facts as I go. 

Must make a living, you know. 

The Feeing System 

I’m told there are places right here in town. 
Where waiters must pay to wait; 

They pay for a chance to get paid their pay, 

—How’s that for a white man’s fate? 

The Book Agent 

Read the name from off the plate. 

Say it over, get it straight. 


POEMS 


189 


Hide your book and look a dude, 

Say you hope you don’t intrude. 

Beg to have an in-ter-view ; 

Don’t stop talking till you’re through. 

Make her think you know a friend, 
Whip your book out, don’t offend. 

Have her sign for all she’s worth, 

Call again and claim the earth. 

The Sales Lady 

Bargain days are bad, 

Challenge sales are worse, 

But Christmas wears me out 
And doesn’t fill my purse. 

Marking down the price, 

Tying up to send, 

Or shouting down the tube, 

And calling up a friend. 

Many women ask 
Just to make pretend, 

They feel and pull and shop 
With not a cent to spend 

Early hours and late! 

Wages sweet and low! 

We’re glad to get the crust; 

—The firm will get the dough. 

With a “cash, cash” here, 

And a “cash, cash” there, 

And here a “cash,” there a “cash,” 
And here and there a “cash!” 

THE ALTAR-PIECE 

An altar painting of a girl; 

American girl with angel’s wings, 
Tall and slim as Americans are. 
Come and hear the word she brings. 


AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

No Fra Angelico angel this, 

But only a girl with a human heart; 
Only a modern American girl, 

Bursting old traditions of art. 

Her brow triumphant, serious, glad; 

Composite picture of many types; 
White on gold against the wall, 

Hear the voice in the organ pipes. 

“I cry aloud for equal power, 

To do my work and take my place, 
The share the good God promised me, 

To be myself and help the race. 

My heart is true, my wings are false; 

My flesh shall die, my soul endure; 
The time has come to take my part; 

And make salvation double sure. 

I need the chance to make mistakes; 

The right to fail and try anew, 

For some are wise and some must learn. 
—Ah! preachers many, prophets few! 

Then let me choose my standing place, 
Free to cast my wings aside; 

Free to rise and free to fall, 

Till Love I find and there abide.” 

TO THE ORGAN 

What time my soul communes with thine, 
The world apart, in whispers fine, 

A golden rest is mine. 

It seems as though in thee were stored,— 
Ay, in those pipes and their accord— 

The glories of the Lord. 

For once—it seemed by chance—I found, 
Slow idling with luxurious sound, 

A concord, vast and round. 

Ah me! it bared the end of space; 

And there at last I learned to trace 
The circle of God’s grace. 


POEMS 


191 


GOD WATCHES OVER HIS OWN 

Sleep on, white souls, to-night 
Your dreamless portion of peace! 

The storm that raged has blown: 

—God watches over His own. 

The tide beats in and out; 

The shade creeps west and east; 

But the purple clouds have flown: 

—God watches over His own. 

With me is the failing lamp; 

Outside the falling leaf; 

And what if I be alone? 

—God watches over His own. 

Sleep on, white souls, to-night! 

Sleep on in perfect peace! 

For Love sits on the throne 
In the upper, upmost zone; 

—God watches over His own. 

THE CALM OF THE SOUND 

This day, dissolved in dreams! Speak not the word 
To jar its moorings from the Land Unheard. 

The calm has wiped the blue from off the Sound; 
The schooners lie as though they stood aground. 

So wait awhile, let be 
The sky, the sea, 

And you and me. 

Those islands, lifted from the curving deep 
Hush, lest they fall, somnambulists asleep. 

The porpoise roll, and sea gulls sit at ease; 

And schools of fish play make believe a breeze. 

But we, we sing and lie; 

The sea, the sky, 

And you and I. 

This is no time for song of tackle, jerk of boom, 

For friendly gurgle from the rudder’s gloom. 
To-day is brooding void and waste adrift; 

To-day is introspection, silent shrift; 


192 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

To-day shall make us free; 

The sky, the sea, 

And you and me. 

Look off with eyes, that see not, but divine 
Where sea and sky are met in single line. 

Beyond the utmost edge your pride shall fall 
And there a Voice that is not self shall call; 

“Let false ambitions die! 

And futile senses lie.” 

Oh placid sea and sky! 

You have your peace and glad repose, your power, 
The Kingdom of your choice, your full-paid dower. 
Who walks upon transparent seas is free 
To love and understand and really be. 

Then rise and rising fly 
Beyond the sea and sky 
Oh blessed you and I! 

MY FRIEND BROWN 

Fd rather sail with Brown, 

Be the wind from north or south, 

For he doesn’t talk at the tiller, 

And he doesn’t sail with his mouth. 

He knows each knot and splice, 

He knows each buoy and rock, 

But he doesn’t brag of his knowledge 
And he doesn’t sail on the dock. 

While some complain of the grub, 

And others will scold at the heat, 

I’d rather sail with Brown, 

If it’s only to trim the sheet. 

He doesn’t care for the weather, 

And he’s awful good to his mother! 

—I’d rather sail with Brown 
Than own a yacht with another! 

ADVICE TO SEA-GULLS 

Sweep and scour the bay, 

“White Wings” of the sea; 


POEMS 


193 


Pick the tide line clean and blue, 

For the Water's free. 

Swoop around the ship, 

Circle off to lee, 

Catch the broken bits that fall, 

For the air is free. 

TO A SEA-GULL ON THE WING 

Go, lie upon the cushioned air, 

And float at ease against the singing breeze. 

Go, soar and cut the skies with scissor-wings, 
Or, dip and scour the vagrant seas! 

I feel your flight of balanced wings; 

The subtile ether touch and stroke your sides; 

Tumultuous whispers hurtle through mine ears, 
To skim, like you, the fragrant tides. 

Or hover, poised in the gale, 

Or ride triumphant on the breasted wave, 

So I may learn to use the powers that be, 

And thus myself grow white and brave. 

For soon the perfect time may come, 

To wrap the fluid air about mine arms, 

When neither sin nor weakness hinders more, 
Nor any fear of death alarms. 

Then wait, sweet bird of sea and sky, 

What time my purged self shall rise and dare 

To float at ease against the singing breeze, 

And lie upon the cushioned air. 

AMERICAN AMALGAM 

Throw your metals in the pan, 

Start the fire and mix the mass, 

Fill it full of Keltic gold, 

Add some Anglo-Saxon brass. 

Heap it up with German silver, 

Stir the whole with equal rights, 

Throw in bits of Gallic copper 
Till you see the acid bites. 


AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

Skim the top of all its scum, 

Purge the mixture clear as glass. 

Brush away each vested wrong,— 

Still you’ve got your Saxon brass. 

SOMETHING STRANGE AND NEW 

Not the Saxon plus the Kelt, 

Not the Latin plus the Slav, 

Not the Gentile plus the Jew, 

But a something strange and new. 

Not a mere mechanic mess, 

But an elemental change, 

Not a mixture, but a brew, 

And a something strange and new. 

Scottish thrift and Irish wit, 

French good cheer and English grit. 

Make the product good and true, 

And a something strange and new. 

THE SOLUTION 

Give me a chance to strangle want. 
Before it come to birth, 

Give me a place to stand upon 
And I will shake the earth. 

FEAR NOTHING 

Fear nothing, freedom least of all. 

If wrongs appear, then blame the fears of men. 
The laws of God will prove a wall. 

They stand in stone, write with His pen. 

HOLD FAST 

The good cause will win, 

The noble side will gain, 

For Love must blot out sin, 

And health will laugh at pain 

The Lord of hosts has heard. 

The hand of God will mend, 

Way back He gave His Word, 

He’ll keep it to the end. 


POEMS 


195 


He'll crush the brood of snakes 
He’ll stop the sinful whim, 

He’ll stay the hand that breaks 
Lose not your faith in Him. 

HOMES 
The Hotel 

Monstrous pile of Song and Dance! 

Alpine peak that’s planned in France! 

Big barbaric music-box! 

Jewel-case with jim-crack locks! 

Palace, club, boudoir and bar! 

Vanity Fair and carnival car! 

The Tenement 

Nobody knows who lives up-stairs, 

Nobody asks, so nobody cares. 

Somebody”s born, or somebody dies. 

Nobody’s happy, nobody sighs. 

Poor little patter of innocent feet, 

What will you do, when you get in the street? 

HOUSING THE POOR 

Building nests for birds, 

Scratching holes for hares, 

Choosing sites for spawning beds, 
Digging dens for bears. 

Fish and flesh and fowl 

Can house themselves the best, 

Then let us all possess the earth, 

And we will do the rest. 

GIVING WORK 

Was’t you who said giving work 
Was such a thing to do? 

Say, look-a-here, you funny man, 

I want a word with you. 


196 


AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 


Now, what is there in work itself 
That makes it such a treat ? 

It isn't work we're looking for, 

But things to wear and eat! 

Man tries to get at what he needs 
With just the least of toil, 

So what’s the use of making work 
And locking up the soil? 

Old Mother Earth holds all we want, 

Just let us get at her! 

Just let the word go out she's free, 

And see the people stir! 

Hear the wages climbing up! 

Hear the rents come down! 

Hear the builders building homes 
All around the town! 

So you think it's work we want? 

And I say it's land. 

Even money has no pull 
When we’ve room to stand. 

Perhaps you meant it just for fun, 

You funny, funny man! 

This talk of giving others work 
Is such a funny plan. 

THE MAN IN OVERALLS 

I'm just a man in overalls, 

But quite as good as you. 

I’m sorry for the awful rich 
And for the privileged few. 

I'm sorry for the howling swells, 

They have to dress so much. 

I’m sorry for the ministers, 

They keep so out of touch. 

I’m sorry for society men, 

They work so hard for fun, 

What things you see when out for a walk! 
Oh, “Johnnie, get your gun!” 


POEMS 

FEAR NOTHING 

Fear nothing, freedom least of all, 

If wrongs appear, then blame the beliefs of sens< 
The laws of God will prove a wall. 

They stand in storm and serve for our defence. 
(Sentinel Vol. VII, p. 622) 

JUSTICE 

Keep step, my brothers, hail the glorious fray! 
Together march to purify to-day! 

All for each, and each for all, 

And love decrees that none shall fall. 

(Sentinel Vol. VII, p. 469) 

HOLD FAST 

The cause of good shall win, 

The side of right shall gain, 

For love must blot out sin, 

And health will laugh at pain. 

The Lord of Hosts has heard, 

The hand of God will mend, 

Far back He gave His word, 

He’ll keep it to the end. 

He’ll check the fever's throb, 

He’ll stop the sinful whim. 

He’ll stay the hands that rob. 

Lose not your faith in Him. 

(Sentinel Vol. VII, p. 37.) 

JUSTICE 

Keep step, my brothers, hail the glorious fray! 
Together march to reach the glorious day! 

All for each, and each for all, 

And heaven decrees that none shall fall! 

The times are softly marking off the years! 

The mills of God are grinding out the years! 
Justice now, and freedom then, 

And Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men! 


197 


CHAPTER XIV 

Ancestral Sketch 

Ancestral data as a rule make dry reading, and so I 
have placed this chapter by itself as the last in my book. 
Fortunately, however, in looking up my ancestors I find 
that they were great travellers and had some lively experi¬ 
ences which may be of interest to the reader. 

My Grandfather William McCrackan came to this 
country from Glenluce, Scotland in 1767 and settled in 
New Haven, Connecticut. In 1772 he married Sarah 
Miles in that city. They had eleven children. He and 
his son William McCrackan 2d were treasurers of Trin¬ 
ity Episcopal church on the Green for fifty-six years 
consecutively. 

In 1845 a certain Charles Bostwick drew a plan of 
Chapel Street in New Haven as he remembered it to 
have been in 1786. A house and store of William Mc¬ 
Crackan appear on the left hand side of Chapel Street 
about halfway between State and Church Streets. The 
present Orange Street flanks the side of the house near¬ 
est Church Street. My grandfather died in New Haven 
on July 3rd, 1809, aged 74 and his wife in the same year. 
His estate was appraised at $17,681.73. Obituary notices 
appeared in the Connecticut Journal (Yale Library) and 
Connecticut Herald of July 11th, 1809; the same news¬ 
papers also recorded the death of his wife. 

Apparently William and John McCrackan his brother 
had a dry goods store in Hartford also, according to an 
advertisement in the Hartford Courant of September 1st, 
1800. His son William McCrackan and his son-in-law 
Nathan Smith of New Haven, later United States Sena¬ 
tor from Connecticut, were appointed Trustees of the 
estate. Nathan Smith married William McCrackan’s 
sister, Sarah; their children were Rev. Cornelius B. 

198 


ANCESTRAL SKETCH 


199 

Smith who baptized me, Florence Smith who married 
Peter V. Quick of New York, and Alexander Mackay- 
Smith, at one time rector of St. John’s Episcopal parish 
in Washington, D. C. and later Episcopal Bishop of 
Pennsylvania. 

In Vol. 50 of New Haven deeds, p. 275, there is a 
record dated July 23, 1801 and signed by my great grand¬ 
father in which he manumits a negro woman, Peg, 
described as a slave for life. Vol. 52, p. 414, shows that 
he set free another slave, Margaret Butler. 

My grandfather, William McCrackan 2nd continued 
his father’s business in New Haven and took up the office 
of Treasurer of Trinity Church. 

In 1828 he undertook a voyage to Europe which he 
described in a journal now in my possession, entitled, “A 
Journal of William McCrackan with some Observation in 
a Voyage to Europe in the Years 1828 and 1829.” He 
sailed from New York on a regular packet ship, the 
Henry, on November 5th, 1828 for Havre, France. This 
European journey was still in the time of the sailing 
vessel and the travelling coach, and so had features of 
special novelty from the standpoint of the modern travel¬ 
ler. From Havre my grandfather travelled by carriage 
to Rouen, Paris and Marseilles, then took ship for 
Naples, returning northward by way of Rome, Perugia, 
Florence, Pisa, Leghorn, Genoa, and Turin to Geneva 
(at that time a little semi-independent republic). His 
descriptions of these cities and of his journal are minute 
and in the form of a diary. From Genoa he travelled 
back to Paris by way of Dijon. 

On the occasion of this second visit to Paris he called 
on General Lafayette who was residing in Paris at that 
time, still taking some part in French affairs and the 
special object of admiration for every patriotic Amer¬ 


ican. 


200 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

In making extracts from this journal I have retained 
the phonetic spelling of my grandfather just as it 
appears, as characteristic of the man and the times. The 
handwriting is perfectly clear although nearly a cen¬ 
tury old. 

On June 2, 1829 there is the following entry in the 
Journal: 

“2d—Today I went by appointment to visit Genl Lay- 
fiett he received me with great apparent interest and 
good feeling he made many enquirys about New Haven 
& his friend Mr. Hillhouse & said our good city was 
one of the most beautiful places he had ever seen he 
invited me to attend his swary (soiree) on Tuesday 
evening a party he (gives) regularly every week after 
sitting with him some time hearing his enthusiastic 
feeling of America I left with a promise to see him in 
the evening was introduced by Mr. Bradford an Amer¬ 
ican—went next to see the Kings Library & then to 
the Chamber of Debitys (Deputies) haveing a permit 
for the purpose The building is in the form of a 
Grecan Temple very handsome the interior is plain 
but neat the form is that of an amphitheater. The Ros¬ 
trum where the Presidents seat is very much elevated 
& fronting him is a place where each speaker is obliged 
to mount when he addresses the House I spent nearly 
two hours at the sitting a very good order appeared & 
was preserved Genl Layfiett is a member the number 
of debyties is about 400 any person paying a tax of 
Sixty Dollars to the government is permitted to vote, 
the House of Peers are chosen by the crown consist¬ 
ing of the Nobility & their sitting is entirely privet. 
The people appear well satisfied with the Government 
property is well protected was told the President of the 
Chamber of Debyties Roger Collard was a liberal very 
much respected for his talent & in the evening had the 


ANCESTRAL SKETCH 


201 

pleasure of attending Genl Layfiett’ party found a 
great croud the General introduced me to his daughter, 
the refreshments were light cakes—whisky Punch & 
wine, left about 11 o’clock found a number of Amer¬ 
icans Mr. & Mrs. Robbins & Mr. Hicks of New York, 
the party was conducted much in the same style & man¬ 
ner as at home.” 

Other incidents recorded in this journal which may 
be of interest are the following: In Naples my grand¬ 
father met his brother John McCrackan, who was also 
travelling in Europe at the time and had just arrived 
from Rome. This brother could interpret for him and 
was therefore doubly welcome. 

At a gala performance in the famous theatre of San 
Carlo my grandfather mentions seeing the King and 
Queen of Naples of those days and no less than ten of 
their children. 

On January 26th, 1829, the two brothers William and 
his brother John McCrackan climbed Mt. Vesuvius. Of 
this experience the journal states, “It was truly the most 
grand sight I ever beheld, the fire & the noise emiting 
from the small cone inside the grand Crator was such 
as to make one tremble the flame rushing out & the burst 
of Volcanic matter making a report like a heavy dis¬ 
charge of Guns we stood with wonder & astonishment 
for a long time, the light was such combined with the 
night as to make it a most grand spectacle we were fortu¬ 
nate in the weather, it being a mild pleasant night after 
satisfying ourselves fully we descended with out guide 
who carried a lighted torch before him, we got back to 
Naples about 9 o’clock.” 

The two brothers drove from Naples to Rome by 
carriage, in three and a half days and took lodgings at No. 
5 Piazza di Spagna, that fine old square and famous 
rendezvous of visiting English and Americans. Pope 


202 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

Leo XII having recently died, my grandfather and great 
uncle attended the coronation of the new Pope as Pius 
VIII; among noted strangers present, the journal states, 
being the then King of Bavaria, and the English Lord 
Arundel and Marquis of Hartford, and the ambassadors 
of France, Spain and England. Attending the English 
Church in Rome on Easter Sunday, my grandfather noted 
the then Duke of Buckingham, “a very fleshy man of good 
countenance.” 

The beauty and neatness of Florence in contrast with 
the cities further south was greatly appreciated by the 
travellers. Here they visited the Protestant burying 
ground just outside the walls of Florence which at that 
time had only been in existence for two or three years, 
And saw the spot where shortly before John McCrackan 
had buried his wife Nancy McCrackan, a lot described 
as very suitable and on a side hill. A cousin by the name 
of Henry Miles, a resident of Florence, and a merchant 
who was a large purchaser of Leghorn hats, showed them 
about the city and its environs. 

On May 2nd, 1829, my grandfather parted from his 
brother John who was bound for Venice, he himself 
taking carriage for Pisa. At Genoa he saw the King 
and Queen of Sardinia embark in state in a frigate on 
a visit to the King of Naples, the brother of the Queen. 
Near Marengo, the scene of the victory of Napoleon I 
over the Austrians, my grandfather refers to seeing for 
the first time in Europe Indian corn growing. In Turin 
he had the amusing experience of discovering a dis¬ 
tinctly local product, those curious sticks of bread now 
familiarly displayed at Italian table d’ hote dinners in 
America also. He writes: “I was struck with wonder 
in seeing what appeared like sticks on table at dinner on 
taking one of them up found it was bread made in the 


ANCESTRAL SKETCH 203 

form about two feet long and about the size of your 
finger with a hole through it like a pipes tail.” 

On May 28th he was once more in Paris comfort¬ 
ably lodged in the Hotel De Lille, and called for his let¬ 
ters at his bankers, Messrs. Wells & Co. and Hottenger 
& Co. At the Jardin des Plantes he was very much sur¬ 
prised to see for the first time a giraffe which he thus 
describes: “There was an animal called the Camel 
Leopard a most astonishing beast, the legs very long and 
the neck of such length that it was said it could reach 
and bite leaves from a tree from 14 to 16 feet from 
the ground it was fed with milk as a considerable part 
of his food.” He also visited the famous cemetery of 
Pere Lachaise, where a few years later his own brother, 
John, from whom he had just parted was to be buried. 

After his visit to General Lafayette my grandfather 
journeys to the battlefields of Waterloo and was there 
on June 16th, fourteen years after the battle took place 
(June 18, 1815), having as a guide a man who saw the 
battle and the day after it took place was employed in 
carrying the wounded to Brussels. 

On June 20th, 1829, he arrived in London by steam 
packet. This was the first landing of one of our family 
in the British Isles since my great grandfather had left 
Scotland in the eighteenth century. 

Of the King at the Ascot races, the journal states: 
“The King took his stand in a building facing the course 
window open, he firstly came to the window and bowed 
three times to the crowd, then took his seat at the window 
which gave every one an opportunity of looking at him as 
long as they chose his purson was rather tall very stout 
and full faced and copulent his manner perfectly easy 
and graceful seemed very social with those about him, 
his dress was plain Blue Cloth, the only badge was the 
Star on his breast, wore white or light brown hat—such 


204 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

as other men wear, his walk was much like a man worn 
down by age or dissipation very still rather lame, his 
brothers present were good looking men.” 

Travelling by steamboat from Glasgow to Liverpool 
he caught a distant view of the Scottish ancestral coast 
and has these words to say in the journal: “Passed near 
to the coast of Galloway Scotland and saw the country 
of Glenluce where my father was born, was told it was 
a small village in the bay of Luce of one or two Thous¬ 
and Inhabitants, it affords some satisfaction to see even 
the land of my ancestors but was sorry in not being 
able to see the town where my father was born my time 
being limited was deprived that pleasure.” He sailed on 
July 8th and arrived in New York on Sept. 15th after 
a passage of forty days. He had been gone altogether 
ten months and eleven days. His passport signed by 
Henry Clay, as Secretary of State, and literally covered 
with the visas of many governments, a number of which 
have now ceased to exist, is in my possession. 

At the close of my trip to Europe in the summer of 
1886, I visited Glenluce in Scotland, the home of my 
ancestors on my father's side. I was the first one of 
our family to revisit Glenluce since my great grandfather 
William McCrackan, left there before the American 
Revolution. Glenluce is a small town situated at the 
point where the little Luce river enters Luce Bay in 
Kirkudbrightshire. I journeyed by way of Dumfries, 
through the country of Robert Burns. In Glenluce I 
stayed at the local inn and at once got in touch with 
some people who could give me some information about 
the family. I was told that the last one of that name 
was a paymaster in the British Army, who was a bachelor. 
In the churchyard I found a marble monumental tomb, 
surrounded by an iron railing which bore the name of 
McCrackan, spelled with a final “an.” This was the 


ANCESTRAL SKETCH 


205 

most imposing of the tombs in the churchyard; there 
were numerous tombstones inscribed with the name of 
McCrackan, spelled with a final “en,” but only the one 
monumental tomb inscribed with McCrackan. As my 
father had always instructed me to note this spelling of 
our name, and as it always appears with a final “an” in 
all the family documents and letters in my possession I 
infer that the monumental tomb in question in the church 
yard of Glenluce marks the earthly burial place of the 
last of our family connections in Scotland. In Glenluce 
I visited the Manse and saw the names of many Mc¬ 
Crackens in the registers. I also journeyed to the village 
of Luce or New Luce, where I was given to understand 
there was a special settlement of McCrackens in ancient 
times. There I talked with the local school master. I 
also drove to the home of a dairyman by the name of 
McCracken and took supper with him and his mother, 
eating Scotch oat cakes for the first time in my life. 
The school master of New Luce told me that he believed 
the McCrackens were Highlanders who had settled in 
the lowlands as a clan or as crofters. In speaking once 
with Chancellor MacCracken of New York University 
about our name he gave it as his opinion that Mac meant 
“Son of” and Cracken was Craggen or Crags, so that the 
name might mean Son of the Crags. At my first interview 
with Mrs. Mary Baker Eddy in the year 1900 she said 
smilingly, “A man with a name like yours ought to have 
perseverance.” 

My father, John McCrackan, of whom I have written 
from personal memory in these Recollections, was born 
in New Haven and baptized in Trinity Church there. As 
a young lawyer of twenty-three he felt the call of the far 
west, and one day at the end of March 1849 embarked 
on the ship Balance for California around Cape Horn. 
He was eminently successful there in his profession, 


206 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 
establishing himself at Sacramento, the capital, and 
returned to the east a few years later with a respectable 
fortune and the assurance of having served his country 
well in helping to establish order on the Pacific Coast 
during turbulent times. Thereafter he no longer pursued 
his profession but lived upon his income. I have in my 
possession a collection of letters which my father wrote 
home to his mother and sister from California. They 
are worthy of a place in the history of the Pacific Coast, 
giving as they do, the personal experiences of a Forty 
Niner who was well qualified to set down his observations 
with accuracy. I shall content myself here with giving 
extracts from some of these letters just as he wrote them, 
but only with a view to bringing out the character of 
my father rather than the history of the period. 

Describing a ride to a ranch situated some fifty miles 
from San Francisco in the directioon of San Jose he 
writes to his “dear Family” on July 29th, 1851, 

“On, on we rode with a bright twilight lighting our 
path far before us in the distance, the whole place as 
level as a parlor floor over which our horses travelled as 
if inspired with the riders’ light heart and freedom of 
spirit; flowers bloomed in our path and many birds 
cheered us with their evening songs. At each stopping 
place on the road we heard of our friends who had gone 
before us, and we passed on thinking to overtake them 
at their dinner. Cayotas (or Dog wolf, as they are 
called) were frequently seen before us in our path; these 
were harmless, but the roar of the grizzlies was echoed 
to us from the high range of coast hills on our right, 
and when at times we could hear but one we imagined 
him feeding on some poor sheep or calf which it had 
captured. I have never, I believe, given you any ac¬ 
count of the Grizzly Bear, although I doubt not you have 
become familiar with their nature and general character 


ANCESTRAL SKETCH 


207 

from the frequent accounts that frequently go home in 
form of publication letters. A large one is the size of 
an ox, and will weigh eight and nine hundred, often much 
more. As a foe they are greatly to be feared. It is 
difficult to pierce them with a ball, while it would be im¬ 
possible to cope with one, unless he should be disabled 
immediately. There are young ones captured every day 
and brought into town, and led about with a chain like 
a dog. Still the young ones are very much inclined to 
exhibit in some of their movements the true bruin dis¬ 
position. They are very good natured, however, when 
we consider the fact that everyone who sees them is dis¬ 
posed to test their animality by stirring them up with a 
stick. They live to an immense age, and rule the forest. 
Although we felt secure when we heard their roar, know¬ 
ing we could escape them in case of an attack, yet we 
might perhaps encounter one anywhere on the road, 
where they are usually most desperate. With one blow 
they strike the horse and rider to the ground. As I have 
said, the country over which we were riding at the rate 
of twelve miles an hour was very smooth and firm, here 
and there dotted with a clump of trees that reminded us 
of our approach to the section where the tall pine and 
sturdy oak give variety and beauty to the country. Our 
first stopping place was at the Mission of '‘San Mateo. ,, 
The “Fonda” is near the road side, and a sweet spot it is. 
A note was handed me here from our friends who had 
been before us, in a few words wishing us God speed, 
and by all means to try the eggs (upon which they had 
had a fine lunch), and they would order dinner for us 
upon their arrival at the ‘Rancho de las Pulzol,’ should 
they get there first. I may as well translate the name of 
this Ranch. It is ‘the ranch of the fleas,’ certainly not a 
very pleasant prospect before us if we were to encounter 
these industrious plagues. The company here at the Mis- 


208 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

sion of San Mateo, desirous of securing our company 
(and a large number had collected here for the night on 
their way to the great sale in the morning) used every 
argument against our proceeding farther till to-morrow, 
including a contest with half a dozen and the prospect of 
being mired in the salt marsh. We heard them quietly 
as we devoured our eggs, and although the General was 
inclined to remain for the night, yet I determined to pro¬ 
ceed, for I had traveled the road before and felt confi¬ 
dent we could not only find it out, but also avoid bears 
and the salt marsh, and well armed, we should prove a 
match for at least our number of robbers. Attached 
to almost every traveling saddle is a sword. It is con¬ 
fined under the girt lengthwise so as to be drawn at a 
moment’s warning, and yet be perfectly convenient to 
carry. We were both provided with these, as well as 
revolvers, which rendered us fearless of an attack. After 
every argument had been exhausted to induce us to re¬ 
main, the attempt was at last given over and all infor¬ 
mation we required was freely extended us. We were 
soon in our saddles and off at full speed, the road here 
led us through beautiful pine groves and of course it was 
easily defined. The air was redolent of sweet pine and 
olive whose branches arched our path-way, while not a 
breath stirred their dark foliage. The novelty of this 
scene was perfectly exquisite, the glorious night, the mild, 
balmy atmosphere, the song of the cricket, the hour and 
the uncertainty that attended our course all combined 
to render the ride peculiarly attractive. I never shall 
forget the freedom that filled my very being, shut up in 
my office as I had been for weeks. This made me feel like 
a new creature. My horse (a fine animal) seemed to 
sympathize with his rider, and dashed over the ground 
as if every bound imparted fresh strength and courage. 
We overtook and passed several companies, and only 


ANCESTRAL SKETCH 


209 

once were our suspicions aroused, and that was from a 
company of six who left “San Mateo” as we dismounted. 
They were jogging along leisurely when we came up with 
them, some talking and others apparently listening to the 
music of their spurs, their silver saddle trappings, and 
their heavy swords, which kept up a perfect clatter. As 
we passed them they came dashing on behind us, mak¬ 
ing as much noise as a regiment of dragoons. It was no 
difficult thing to pronounce them genuine Rancheros, 
which of course rendered us more suspicious than if we 
had believed them Americans. The one who led saluted 
me in Spanish, to which I replied and this encouraged a 
very lively commotion. I told him of our destination, 
keeping all the time a sharp look and keeping our hands 
upon our resolvers. He admired my horse very much 
(in the dark) and challenged me to a race. This of 
course I declined, for had he premeditated an attack his 
object would have been to separate us (the Gen. L. & 
self) and thus have us completely in their power. I told 
him I would see him at the sale to-morrow, when we 
would try the mettle of our horses, if so desired. I took 
no further notice of him, and directed my conversation 
to my companion, Gen. L. Door, who was evidently quite 
uneasy. We gradually quickened our speed and soon had 
the satisfaction of widening the distance till becoming 
fainter and fainter the presence of the party was left far 
behind us.” 

Writing to his sister Lottie concerning a young ladies’ 
charitable society called Thurlile to which she belonged, 
my father wrote on April 18th, 1850, from San Fran¬ 
cisco : 

“Speaking of the Thurlile, I rejoice you are once 
more in the society of your sweet friends, & enabled to 
add your mite with them, in their noble and generous 
exertions, in behalf of the distressed, to relieve the poor, 


210 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 
& suffering, to minister to the wants of the unfortunate, 
is one of the noblest pleasures this earth affords. Your 
efforts, humble though they be, fill the heart of the des¬ 
titute with joy, & happiness, & lay the ‘horn of plenty" 
at the door of the sick & dying; bright angels of mercy, 
you lighten the sorrowing heart, & dispel the dark image 
of despair, the tears & prayers of the orphan & fatherless 
are yours. The widow in her affliction blesses your kind 
bounty, & sickness and sorrow flee before your radiant 
presence, & Oh! happy thought, there is a sweet angel 
faithful to the task, who records these bright deeds, in 
the bright heavens above, in that pure celestial clime 
where good deeds but grow more brilliant with the lapse 
of time, where there is no hand to mar, no finger to blot 
the record, ‘Where neither moth, nor rust doth corrupt/ 
In this sweet land you and your dear companions will one 
day reap the glorious harvest that your good deeds here, 
are fast bringing to maturity. Yes, Yes! 

Methinks I see a train of Spirits fair, 

With angel wings they mount celestial air. 

And sailing in this purity of light 
They chant the Hymn of Seraphs" bright. 

A crown of fairest pearls surmount the brow, 

The diadem of purity, and now 

They span with lightning thought the space 

Of heaven"s all glorious shining face. 

All wreathed with brilliants of the rainbow hue 
And flowers sparkling with the morning dew,— 

With jeweled belt, and form of faultless mould. 

And silver bells, and bells of purest gold. 

The glistening wand is in each hand— 

Affixed to the signet of the band, 

And anklets bright of silver sheen, 

More bright than Fairy’s boast, I ween. 


ANCESTRAL SKETCH 211 

On, on they sped, thought courts above, 

Borne on their wings like “Spirit dove,” 

Nor slack their speed, nor cease their flight, 

Till the tiny band is lost to sight. 

And thus they revel, the live long day, 

In the home of angels far away, 

And their life is like the lunar ray, 

With spirits as light as the Fairy Fay. 

Their wings never tire, their eyes never sleep, 

And their flight alway's free over land, and deep, 

No breath ever chills their fair native clime, 

No echo disturbs their sweet blending chime. 

Their ceaseless flight is always above, 

For their songs never weary, in this land of love,— 
Their f ame is posthumous, and inscribed on each shiel' 

In letters of fire, is emblazoned, Thurlile. 

I tell thee good friend, they were mortals on earth, 
And they led a life, as of Heavenly birth! 

Not a pearl, not a flower, not a gem they wear! 

But marks a “good deed,” in their pilgrimage there! 

As indicating my father's boundless confidence in 
the prospects of the new land of his adoption I add the 
following extract from a letter dated May 30, 1850: 

“There is a charm connected with a life in California, 
that every day becomes more and more binding, in pro¬ 
portion as our conveniences and refinements increase. 
You at home, I mean people generally, know very little 
of us here. We have already very good society, which 
is daily added too, by arrivals from the States of those, 
who will make this beautiful country their home. People 
come here now with very different ideas, than formerly, 
(a year ago) we have a population here now of two 
hundred thousand souls. Schools have been established, 
and such a host of children, you would be amazed, did 


212 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

you know how many we have here, and look at the induce¬ 
ments for a man with a family. He can remove here 
and settle upon a tract of land 160 acres, build him a log 
house, and go to farming in the most delightful climate 
and cultivate the most generous soil upon the face of the 
earth. He pays nothing for his land, ‘till the U. S. Agent, 
comes along, when he pays him one hundred and sixty 
dollars for his 160 acres, and this may not be in years, 
and then he receives a clear undoubted title, to a property 
which then may be worth twenty thousand dollars; 
besides this, from his farm he can realize enough money 
in one year, to build him a comfortable home, and pur¬ 
chase as many “heads of cattle” as he wishes. He can 
live upon the best beef, (wild) and have all the luxuries 
of a western prairie, besides his farm, or country seat, 
which in three years will vie with a noblemans estate in 
Yorkshire. But you will say, every one could not enjoy 
such advantages, and yet I might say there are enough 
beautiful situations between Oregon, and San Bias, to 
give one to every family in California. I have one already 
chosen, directly across the bay in the Mission of “San 
Raphael.” Mr. Shepherd and self have selected each 
one spot, near each other of course. In one year’s time, 
we shall have a steam ferry to take us over there. We 
shall build a nice house, doing our business in the city, 
and returning to our homes and family at night, as the 
Long Island merchants do who conduct their business 
in New York City. We shall have the best horses to 
ride.” 

On June 20, 1855, my father married my mother, 
Anna Pamela Sanford, at 41 East 21st Street, New York, 
the home of her parents, Henry Josephus and Mary San¬ 
ford. My maternal grandfather was a descendant of 
John Sanford, who arrived in Boston from England in 
1631, and was No. 115 on the list of church members. 


ANCESTRAL SKETCH 213 

He was the son of Arthur Sanford, Esq., of Sanford 
Hall, near Press, County Salop, England. The Sanfords 
were Normans who came to England with William the 
Conqueror. Grandfather Sanford was a director of the 
New York and New Haven Rail Road Co. and of other 
large enterprises, among them the Nicaragua Transit 
Company, on whose board he served with the first Cor¬ 
nelius Vanderbilt. My mother spent many happy days 
at the home of her aunt, in Rye, N. Y., but her 
childhood recollections clustered mainly around Stam¬ 
ford, Connecticut, and New York City. There were also 
summer visits to Saratoga, the Thousand Isles, Lake 
George and the White Mountains. 

My brother John Henry, the eldest of us four chil¬ 
dren, was born in the Sanford home in New York on 
April 15, 1856. On the 13th of October, 1857, my 
parents with their first born son left New York on the 
sailing vessel “Palestine” for London spending the win¬ 
ter there at No. 19 Torrington Square, and returned to 
New York on the same ship the following May. My 
sister Annie was born that summer in Milford, Connec¬ 
ticut. 

In my mother's journal is the following entry con¬ 
nected with this first visit to London: “Papa and I one 
morning attended St. James' Palace in order to view the 
Queen in her robes of state as she passed through the 
Grand Hall on her way to the opening of the Parliament, 
gorgeous, but not imposing of stature. We received 
tickets for the occasoin.” 

Again in October 18th, 1858, there was a second trip 
to London; included in the party this time were not only 
the two little children, but my grandmother McCrackan 
and her three unmarried daughters, Mary, Sarah and 
Charlotte. The trip was made on the ship Southampton. 


214 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

After a Christmas spent in London there was a stay in 
Brussels at 14 rue de l’lndustrie, a summer at Chaudfon- 
taine, a lovely resort in the hills near Brussels; then a stay 
at the fashionable Springs of Spa, thence to the Rhine by 
Aix la Chapelle, stopping at Cologne, Bonn, Coblenz 
and making the regular tour to Wiesbaden, Frankfort 
and Dresden. There the winter of 1859-1860 was spent, 
and the following summer at Schandau in Saxon, Swit¬ 
zerland. 

During the summer at Chaudfontaine my father went 
to Paris, and the following appears in my mother's 
journal: “The occasion of this visit was to witness the 
celebration of the public entree of Napoleon 3rd into 
Paris after three months severe fighting and victory in 
aid of the Italians struggling for their freedom, the 
French and Sardinians fighting against the Austrians." 
This was the campaign made famous by the victory at Sol- 
ferino. In that year, 1860, my mother and father with 
my aunt Lottie made trips to Paris and to Berlin from 
Dresden, visiting the principal sights in both capitals. 
In August my mother with a party of friends took a trip 
in another direction, to Prague and Vienna, returning to 
Schandau by way of Salzburg, Berchtesgaden and 
Munich. 

Under date of October 27th, 1860, the journal states: 
“We visited the bronze factory to witness the casting of 
an American statue, that of Chief Justice Marshall, of 
Richmond, Virginia, to be placed on the Richmond Wash¬ 
ington Monument. Again, we saw the bronze doors 
destined (then) for the Washington Capitol, which have 
been since placed there.” My mother refers to the 
models of the works of Thomas Crawford who worked in 
Rome. “For years,” she writes, “the studio of Crawford 
at Rome was a home of travellers, and he became through 
his works and the charm of his manners, the friend of the 


ANCESTRAL SKETCH 215 

lovers of art in every country in which the word art is 
used.” 

Thomas Crawford began the has relief for the bronze 
doors of the Capitol of Washington, to which my mother 
refers, but they were completed by W. H. Rinehart. His 
statue of Liberty surmounts the dome of the Capitol; 
he was also the designer of the allegorical decoration in 
the Senate portico of the Capitol. When my parents 
visited Rome in the winter of 1862-1863 they saw much 
of the work in Crawford’s studio, meeting Mrs. Cra\y> 
ford and the little son, Francis Marion Crawford, who 
later became widely known for his popular novels, 
“Saracinesca” and others. Marion Crawford was born 
in Italy, studied at St. Paul’s School, Concord, New 
Hampshire, then at Cambridge University, Heidelberg 
and Rome. 

In the summer of 1861, the family discovered for it¬ 
self the beautiful Tegernsee, a lake in the Bavarian High¬ 
lands which thereafter saw them regularly for several 
summers. In the autumn of 1861 there was a trip 
through Tyrol; the family hired an omnibus for this 
purpose and drove leisurely by way of the Zillerthal, 
Brenner Pass to Botzen, Meran, the Vintschgau, Finster- 
munz Pass to Landeck and back to Munich. 

From the winter in Nice (1866-1867) date several 
letters from General George B. McLellan to my father 
and mother sent from Nice itself, and nearby Hyeres, 
from Vichy and Ischl, Austria. These letters contain 
nothing of special moment, principally descriptions of 
the ordinary vicissitudes of Americans travelling in 
Europe and searching for suitable quarters. My father 
offered the General the hospitality of his own home in 
Nice until the family could get settled, but it appears that 
the McLellans found what they needed in time to make 
the acceptance of this offer unnecessary. My mother 


216 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

refers to little Mary McLellan, the daughter, as our play¬ 
mate. 

Other incidents connected with the travels of the 
McCrackan family before my own recollections begin are 
duly recorded in my grandfather’s journal, in my father’s 
letters and my mother’s journals. The outstanding 
feature of the family history may be summed up in one 
word “travel.” We have been great travellers, our united 
journeying would circle the earth many times. This fact 
is not accidental, but carries with it some definite mean¬ 
ing —a world outlook. Through all this family experience 
there runs one steady purpose like a thread of gold. It 
is enough to know that this purpose is capable of being 
expressed in the words which form the title of this book, 
to be “An American Abroad and At Home.” 


IN MEMORIAM 

WILLIAM DENISON McCRACKAN 
By 

Hamlin Garland 

My acquaintance with Will McCrackan began in the 
early days of the Arena Magazine, to which we were 
fellow contributors. We met on the basis of a mutual 
interest in Henry George’s Single Tax, and in the work 
and character of William Dean Howells. 

Young McCrackan appealed to me at once, both by 
the charm of his personality and the extent and quality 
of his knowledge of the Old World. As a reformer, he 
stood out in notable contrast to the throngs of us who 
knew only our own country, and not very much of that. 
He seemed the genial aristocrat, amusing himself with 
questions of economics, but as I came to know the sin¬ 
cerity of his convictions and his grasp on fundamentals 
my estimate changed. 

His wide studies of Swiss history, folk-lore and gov¬ 
ernment deepened my liking to admiration. His speech so 
fine and clear (American in the best sense) arose, I 
perceived, from contact with highly cultivated men and 
women at home and abroad. In fact he was all that I 
was not, and for that reason I particularly valued his 
companionship. 

We saw much of each other in the early 90’s, but 
after I left Boston we met only occasionally during my 
visits to New York. Nevertheless, our friendship per¬ 
sisted. Some of the interests which he took on in later 
life were alien to mine, but there remained enough in 
common to give enduring quality to our mutual regard. 
His work during the war, and in Palestine after the war 
was nobly disinterested, and I kept in touch with him 
217 


218 AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 

then and assisted him, to the best of my ability, in his 

work. 

That he lived all his life on a high level all his neigh¬ 
bors will bear witness. He maintained his idealism to 
the end. 

His writing was mainly serious, although he sur¬ 
prised us at one point in his career by writing a group of 
poems in the vernacular—poems with a touch of humor, 
yet with altruistic content. Of his services to the church 
of his choice I am not qualified to speak, but of his es¬ 
sential dignity and charm as a Reader I have heard much 
praise. As he never felt the need of writing down to 
people, so he kept a serene and lofty glance in the midst 
of the sad changes which the War brought upon him 
personally, as well as upon the circles in which he moved. 
I shall always remember him as the intellectual aristocrat. 

Hamlin Garland. 


ASCENSION 


The recurring rhythm of aspiring thought, 
The lift, the divine hoist into the blue! 
Ascension made joyful every day, 

Made natural, inevitable, 

This is the portion of thy life. 

Between the candid birches, standing guard, 
A cool air issues from the wood, 

Fragrant of the unsoiled wilderness, 

And with its rhythmic step 
Thy thought ascends. 

A bird calls through the sylvan aisles, 

A luscious call, reverberating, 

Liquid and high placed 

Among the branches sculptured from the sky 
This bird calls thee, ascend! 

Descending waters gurgling from the heights 
Speak of their source 

“Not down below,” they cry, ‘is thy career; 
We point thee back to whence we came. 

As we descend, do thou ascend!” 

Lighter than air is thought; 

Unafraid it rides upon the wind, 

Passing housetops, passing treetops. 

So soar and sway the crouching earth; 
Ascend in thought! 


219 


220 


AN AMERICAN ABROAD AND AT HOME 


Spurn beneath thy flying feet 
Immaterial matter, senseless sense. 

Ascend, exalted, chosen one, 

Picked from the throng. 

Ascend, ascend, ascend! 

Written by 

W. D. McCrackan, 

Hartford, Connecticut. 

June 10, 1923. 

Publisher's Note —As Mr. McCrackan died on June 
12th, 1923, this poem was his last literary production. 
He lives on throughout all Eternity. 




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